Set Fiendfyre To My Heart
by DoYouReallySeeMe
Summary: A story that questions what if a few things from the Harry Potter Timeline were changed around a little? What sort of Harry Potter would be left standing at the end of it?


**Title:** Set Fiendfyre To My Heart

**Summary:** A story that questions _what if _a few things from the Harry Potter Timeline were changed around a little? What sort of Harry Potter would be left standing at the end of it?

**Pairings:** Blaise/Harry/Draco

**Warnings:** Characters behaviors will differ from the book. Timeline and events have changed: Blaise is a more prominent figure, Harry doesn't scar Draco with the Sectumsempra, Ron and Hermione _get some_ but not with each other, etc. Slash (meaning a male/male relationship). Possible hint of dark-slash. Romantic and sexual relationships between underage teenagers. Romantic and sexual relationships between an underaged teenager and an adult. Dominant and submissive elements. Mentions of a dominant-switch-submissive dynamic. Angst. Drama. Romance. Definitely dark elements to the plot. Mature Scenes. Heterosexual Relationships. Homosexual Relationships. Gay sex. Heterosexual sex. Mentions of blood play. Mentions of voyeurism. Mentions of underage drinking. Mentions of drugs. Mentions of _very slight _adulterous behavior. Mentions of one-sided Draco/Pansy. Mentions of one-sided Harry/Ginny and Harry/Others. Mentions of public sex. Mentions of wizarding politics. Mentions of war. Mentions of manipulation. Mentions of Harry switching sides in the war. Mentions of abuse. Mentions of murder. Mentions of torture (Professor Umbridge uses Bloodquill's on underaged students).

**Chapters: **1/1

**BETA:** This story is currently un-BETA'ed, I apologize in advance for any grammatical mistakes and spelling mishaps, if anyone's interested in helping me out feel free to PM me. Thank you.

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership over J. K. Rowling's _Harry Potter_ series; I own nothing of the books or any of its syndicated characters; I claim no rights over any original plot points. I do own the following story and have used characters and text from the prementioned books to create the world they live in. I gain no profit from writing this, but reviews are always welcomed.

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A few things you should probably know now: This story was previously called Cigarette. Also, I rant a lot. I have big chunks of text and I never know when to finish a sentence. I use _and_ too much. I am a terrible speller, but I'm getting better and writing is something that I love to do that also happens to help with the whole _you rely on autocheck too much_ thing. I've used Goggle Translator to add in a few lines of French, Bulgarian, and Italian and figure you can do the same [if you're so bothered about what they mean]. I don't like using exclamation points or chaptalizing my words to emphasis how a character is feeling but I use italics a lot, so if any of that bothers you this story might not be for you. There are a lot of time jumps, because this is only a twoshot (originally it was supposed to be a one shot but it got too long) and I needed to somehow get Harry, Draco, and Blaise from twelve year olds to fifteen-sixteen years old in under 65,000 words. The time jumps are clearly marked but have the potentiality to be confusing so please read them carefully because sometimes it will jump a year and sometimes it'll only jump a few months, and a few times it only jumps a few hours. _Alright-y_. Harry Potter in the books was born in 1980, so when he was eleven and an icky-first-year the year would have been 1991; my dates match up but that's about the extent of my research. A lot of the text is taken from the Harry Potter books and rewritten into my own style (_I have a style, really, I do_) and changed to justify the pairing. Sex and _not friends but more than friends_ is eluded to throughout the story but they won't be jumping straight into bed, so again if any of that bothers you this story might not be for you. There is underage sex, [but it's not explicit] maybe it's a little explicit. [I don't really write sex very often so forgive me if it's not very good.] There's a real underlying sense of manipulation and half-truths told throughout this story from many different characters and not just the main ones, and Harry has anger problems even if it's never outright said. He also suffers more of a physical sort of abuse at the hands of the Dursley's than he did in the books and I imagine a consequence of this is anger and hurt and not knowing how to deal with a lot of things. He's mostly just a lost little boy, but he's not so innocent either.

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_Chapter One; Part the First; Part the Only._

The dungeons were cold this late into winter and the torches supported by bronze sconces were unlit, leaving the corridors dark and difficult to navigate through. But there was a single window on the left side of the corridor that sat close to the potions classroom, with its glass frame opened and small flakes of snow floating in on the cold breeze. A huddled figure sat on the ledge with a cigarette in one hand and a wand in his other. _His name was Harry James Potter. A wizard. A student-wizard who was out of his dorm after hours. A student-wizard who was in the wrong part of the castle. But he hadn't been caught yet._ Harry's was sitting sideways on the ledge and his back was pressed against the wall behind him, his head lent back and his throat arched, his eyes closed, his lips parted. The stones of the wall burned against his skin they were so cold but Harry hardly minded. He was used to the cold after a lifetime of living under the Dursley's rather lacking care. He had a knee raised to his chest, the bend of his leg supporting the arm that held his lit cigarette, and his other hand tapped his wand against his left thigh in an uneven rhythm. It was a nervous twitch he'd discovered back in his third year just before he'd started smoking, and it was a bad habit of his that had resurfaced again tonight.

Green eyes turned to stare out of the window, watching the first snow of November as it fell from the dark, rolling clouds above and he watched as the sky flashed without thunder before the snow began to fall in earnest. The stars were barely visible tonight, and even though Harry knew roughly were the constellation Canis Major was he still missed being able to search for Sirius' star in the heavens and pretend that it was his godfather looking down on him. He sighed. But the moon was new tonight and the storm outside was picking up, leaving very little natural light to see by; so Harry sat in dark and wallowed in the silence of the dungeons and the noise of his thoughts. His cigarette was half burnt and held loosely between two fingers, his thumb flicking the bud to rid it of the burnt ashes and the end reigniting in it's fiery glow as Harry raised it to his dry, parted lips. Hot ash fell onto knee of his jeans and though Harry rolled his eyes he didn't move to brush the ash away. He knew that come morning he would find a small burn where the ashes had fallen. Harry knew that the small burn would annoy him to distraction until he did something about it and _he knew_ that he would have to beg Hermione for a spell to mend it, bugging her until she gave in, but at that precise moment he _just didn't care_. Harry found he didn't care about a lot of things tonight.

His mind wanted to care, wanted to worry and fret over things Harry wasn't yet ready face, but Harry was a Gryffindor and stubborn even against the will of his own mind. So instead of concentrating on his thoughts and facing his fears, like a good Gryffindor should, Harry raised his cigarette back to his dry lips and inhaled. His lips curled upwards in his first smile of the night and he exhaled, smooth smoke rolling and circling in ringlets around his face as he did. _Bliss_. Harry eyes were still closed and his expression might've appeared relaxed if it weren't the frown marring his features. His thoughts, perhaps inevitably, drifted back to the question Harry had been asking himself for many years now without answer; _how did I end up here?_ He had no idea. Only he did, because that was a complete and utter lie and one he'd gotten rather good at telling himself. Harry knew exactly how he ended up here, sitting alone in the dungeons half-dressed and barefoot as he smoked a cigarette that wasn't entirely Tabaco, but it was confusing.

It had first started back in his second year.

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_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Second-year.  
December __21__st__ 1992_.

It was the third week of December and the snow had fallen late that year, but it when it finally came it came with a storm. It had started at some point during the night, and Harry could remember waking up to the sounds of the wind howling and the first flakes of snow melting against windows of his shared dorm before he fell asleep again soon after. But by early morning the snow had turned into a blizzard so tick that the last Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures and Flying lessons of the term had been cancelled and students were being advised to stay inside the castle. Harry couldn't say he was ungrateful for the excuse to hide away from the accusing eyes and the fingers pointed in his direction. Though, he preferred those to the sly whispers of how damaged and dark he must be if he really was the Heir of Slytherin. Those whispers seemed to follow him constantly through the halls now, no matter where he went to hide. Harry sighed.

He, Ron, and Hermione were huddled up in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, wasting away what should have been their Herbology lesson by the warmth of the fire. Harry was sat on the floor with an untouched Charms book in his lap while Hermione challenged Ron to an unsuccessful game of chess. Harry's knees were raised against his chest and his arms hugged them closer to his body, a pose he'd often regressed to when his uncle locked him away in the cupboard under the stairs, and it was a pose Harry had started unconsciously copying when he was scared. His chin was resting atop knees and his face was turned towards the spitting hearth. His eyes felt heavy, tired, but the fire was too pretty to fall asleep yet, its fames dancing in embers of golden yellows and oranges and dark shades of red. It was beautiful. Harry allowed a small smile to curl his lip upwards in a _wouldbe_-smile and held his. The rich aromas that filled the Gryffindor common room with a warmth Harry had never experienced before coming to Hogwarts lulled him into a half-sleep state; _It felt like he had a home here at Hogwarts, and that was something the Dursley's had certainly never given him._ December was perhaps the only time of year that Harry was glad Dudley was such a fussy person to shop for with a serious body dysmorphia complex; he saw clothes that looked good on someone else, usually a far skinnier someone else, and wanted them. And after Dudley had worn them all of once, stretching the material so out of proportion with his large stomach and beefy arms, Dudley would decide he didn't wanted it anymore and he'd throw it at the freak instead. Dudley of course thought himself very funny but Petunia actually bought rather nice clothes for her son, and although the jumper Harry was wearing was old and discolored, and so big that the neck hung off his shoulders and the hem came down to his mid-thigh, it was _warm._ And Harry rather liked the feel of wool against his skin so he'd decided he didn't really care how he came about it. December's at Hogwarts got cold and they got cold quickly, the stonewalls of the castle trapped a chill just as easy as they trapped heat in the summer. The jumper was perhaps the one of the only nicer things his aunt had let him keep instead of trying to push it onto Dudley, and Harry wondered what the Dursley's would do if they knew something they given him was the reason he didn't freeze to death during the worse of the winter season at Hogwarts. _They probably all have one huge, simultaneous hear attack. Maybe he should tell them and see what happens. _He sighed, again. It must have been the fifth time in as many minutes.

"Oh, for heavens sake, Harry." Hermione said as she leaned back into the overly-stuffed red cushions of the armchair she was sitting in. She was sitting directly opposite to Ron, who sat in an identical chair but with a smug grin on his face, and her brown eyes were intensely serious as she examined the chessboard they'd set up on the small coffee table between them. From where Harry was sitting the black set seemed to have the advantage and the three of them watched as Ron's bishop (black) wrestled Hermione's knight (white) off his horse to drag him off the board before returning to his overthrown place. Hermione tutted under her breath and moaned about the violence of wizards-chess. But Harry knew she loved the mental challenge Ron presented as an opponent too much for this to ever really be the last game she played, like she was currently threatening. And he knew Hermione would never give up wizards-chess because she loved watching the animated chess pieces moving about the board at the command of her voice and shouting out unless advice when it was her turn move. She and Ron had been playing this game alone for almost an hour now and Hermione had yet to gain the upper hand with any single move or strategy she tried to implement; it still irked her that Ron performed so poorly in class but had the capability to outmaneuver her in a game he hardly seemed to pay attention to half the time. "Go and find Justin if it's so important to you."

Harry looked over at his friends, his eyelids feeling heavy and his mouth dry. He knew his expression would probably seem sad or lonely to anyone spying on them from across the common room, but Harry figured there were enough rumors circling about him that a few more lies were hardly going to hurt his reputation any more than it already was. Harry wondered if Hermione was right. Should he try and find Justin and explain to him that he'd only been trying to call the snake of during Professor Lockhart's Dueling Club fiasco? Would Justin listen when he explained that he wasn't egging the snake on? Or would he run away scared like everyone else in castle? Would Harry trying to defend himself only cause him more problems? Would it make him look guilty (or guiltier) by omission? Harry frowned, Hermione was usually right about these things and Harry was so ill versed on how to interact with people his own age that he usually listened to her advice, but this time he was sure. But, maybe if he could just get Justin to understand what had really happened with that snake then maybe, maybe, Harry could deal with everyone else's _notso_-silent accusations with his head held high. Because Harry wasn't guilty of anything other than trying to help someone in need and being pinned for a serious of freak accidents that the Professors still couldn't explain. "Yeah." He said. "You're right." His voice was the softest of whispers and weak even to his own ears. Maybe it was weak from where he'd refused to speak to anyone since the Dueling Club fiasco, even to answer questions in class, and that had only lead to him losing a massive amount of points in potions yesterday, but Ron and Hermione had been supportive and hadn't tried to force him to talk and he loved them for it. But sometimes he wished they were a little more forceful or hands-on or – he wasn't sure where he was going with those thoughts so he decided to just leave it.

Neither Ron or Hermione seemed to have heard his whispered words however, too enraptured in their game, and Harry stood from the floor, dusting himself down before leaving through the portrait hold with his hand raised in a goodbye gesture. Hermione was leaning over the chessboard looking frazzled as Ron closed in for a checkmate with three of his pawns circling her king and Ron was still sporting that smug look he knew Hermione _hated_. Harry shook his head at their behavior wondered where Justin might be as he climb down from the portrait hole that closed behind him. "Surely you should be wearing something warmer than that, Mr. Potter." The guardian-portrait of Gryffindor Tower asked him as she swung closed, her brown painted eyes looking into his with a familiar reprehending glint that she often looked at him with when he, Ron, and Hermione had been off exploring the castle afterhours. Most of the students called her the Fat Lady, but Hermione had asked her once if she liked being called that and when the portrait and answered that she was used to it Hermione had been horrified. She'd asked for the portraits name and they'd learnt that the woman who now protected their tower had been Godric Gryffindor's niece, and her name had once been Helen. They'd called her Lady Helen ever since but they'd kept her secret safe when she'd asked them to.

"I'll be fine, Lady Helen." Harry said. "Hermione cast a Warming Charm on all of mine and Ron's clothes last week so we won't freeze. And I'm wearing enough layers, so I'll be okay." He managed a smile for the kind woman in the portrait and felt it becoming a little more real when she laughed. The sound was loud, but Lady Helen didn't care for the portraits hung on the halls around her who'd been indulging in the quiet lull of the halls to take a late morning nap and they woke with a start and grumbled complaints. Her laughter was sharp, like the bark of a dog, and her painted eyes shinned happily as she looked down at him.

"Oh yes, Miss. Granger is a very smart witch. Especially for a girl so young. Warming Charms, they're on the fourth year curriculum aren't they?" Lady Helen asked even though she obviously already knew the answer, and she continued without waiting for his reply. "She reminds me of your mother sometimes, Mr. Potter." She said in a quieter voice. "But then, you remind me of your father so dearly and so often. He invoked great loyalty in his friends as well. A true Gryffindor! From the first night he and those three friends of his passed into my rooms I knew they were going to be trouble, and so they were! Up until the day they graduated these halls were never silent, not even at night when they ought to be resting." She laughed again. "Ahh, but there's a different fate waiting for you then the one that had been laid out before your parents, I can see it. But enough of this. Run a long with you and be off about your business. You shalln't be wanting to waste your day away by speaking to an old portrait like me. Off with you." Lady Helen smiled at him and waved her fingers in a little shooing motion.

Harry nodded in answer, frowning at the mention of his mother and the comparison Lady Helen had made between him and his father. He was dreadfully tempted to stay and ask the portrait more about them but his feet were already walking away and he decided he could always ask her later. He continued down the corridors and hurried his pace a little when he remembered his original objective of finding and talking to Justin Finch-Fletchley. The castle was far darker than it usually was during the daytime and Harry spied the thick, swirling snow outside that was building against the outer ledges and turrets of every window he passed. It boxed out the natural, weak sunlight from behind the storm clouds and left the halls illuminated only by the torches and the fires in grates along the long corridors. Harry shivered. Hermione may have spelled their clothes with Warming Charms and a strong Impervius spell but Harry hands and face were still vulnerable against the cold air that seemed to have seeped into every corner of the castle from the storm raging outside. Harry rubbed his hands together in an attempt to create some heat from the friction before deciding that plan wasn't going to work as fast as he'd like. So instead he lifted the collar of Dudley's old jumper so the back of his neck and his lower face were protected from the cold and clenched his hands into fist, stuffing them into the deep pockets of his jumper, it wasn't a perfect solution but it worked well enough. He continued on his way with hunched shoulders and a frown as he walked past classrooms where lessons where still being taught and he tried to be as silent as possible so as to not draw any unwanted attention to himself.

Harry only caught small snatches of what was happening within the classrooms as he passed but it was still enough to make him smile. Professor Flitwick was attempting to teach a group of first years the correct pronunciation of the Levioso spell, but one of his more impatient students had tried rushing ahead and had cast the spell with the backfired affect of causing himself and his classmates to float up towards the ceiling instead of their feathers. Many of those students were now doing backflips and kicking of the walls or, in many of the girls' case, holding their skirts against their thighs and shouting angrily at the boy who had miscast the spell. Harry heard a distinctly Malfoy-esk comment of _just wait until my father hears about this!_ and couldn't help but to laugh. Professor McGonagall was in the middle of shouting at a fifth-year student when Harry passed the Transfiguration classroom. _A completely irresponsible use of magic, Ms. Galahad_. From what Harry could make out from the murmurs and giggle-laughter of the rest of the class the girl in question had somehow managed to turn her Hufflepuff friend into a stuffed bear. How was that even possible? It defied the laws of transfiguration but Harry didn't want to give himself a headache by thinking on it too much. Professor Binns was lecturing on the second Giant's War of the sixtieth century to bunch of Ravenclaws who were all mostly falling asleep at their desk even as they tried to copy their notes down, but Binns was practically impossible to pay attention to without losing consciousness and as Harry passed the classroom door one of the third-year students feel out of his chair with a loud snore. Harry resisted the urge to peak into the Arithmancy class where he could hear loud laughter and two very distinct voices arguing in what Harry could only guess was a very heated and a _very_ amusing debate by the sound of the little giggles that sometimes followed one of both comments from the seventh-year students. But Harry was almost at the library by this point, walking past the row of busy classrooms and leaving their faint, chatty nose behind him. He'd thought that Justin might be using his free lesson to catch up on some assignments and homework, like most people seemed to be doing with their extra, unscheduled hour, so Harry had decided to check out the library first.

He found a group of Hufflepuffs from his year that should have been in the canceled Herbology lesson with him and the other Gryffindor's sitting at the back of the library around one of the larger tables. There were a stack of books varying from Potions to Charms to Transfiguration opened and propped up against bags and bronze candleholders and they each seemed to be studying something different to their neighbor. Many of the books were piled in small stacks in the middle of the table so they could share the small inkpots floating just above the table in a small cluster, it looked like an altered Levioso spell but Harry couldn't be completely sure. Despite all of this, they didn't seem to be working. Harry frowned. Between the long lines of the bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling Harry could see that their heads were bent close together, one of the Hufflepuff girl's was even up off her seat and leaning across the table in an attempt to better hear the whispered conversation, and they seemed to be having what looked liked a fascinating conversation headed by a stout boy whose name Harry couldn't recall. Harry couldn't see if Justin was among them but he knew they were his best bet so he took a deep breath and started heading towards them. But just as he was about to pass out from the shadow of the bookcase some of what they were saying met his ear, and he paused to listen, standing by the books on Invisibility in the subsection of the Advanced Charms bookcase that was keeping him hidden from view.

"So anyway." The stout boy continued, sending a chastising sort of half-glare to one of the girls who was frowning and looking unsure of herself. Harry wondered if maybe she'd voiced a difference of opinion and the stout boy was displeased with her, but their was no way for him to find out so he dismissed the thought. But then the stout boy was looking as if he wanted to hex the shy girl, but he turned his face away instead and continued speaking as if she weren't there. Harry was familiar enough with that sort of silent dismal from his aunt and uncle that he could see the hurt in the shy girl's eyes without having to look for it. "I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean, if Potter's marked him down as his next victim it'd be best if he keeps a low profile for a while." He said, and Harry felt his heart beating faster underneath his ribcage. Logically he knew the students all thought he was the Heir of Slytherin but to hear that someone was hiding in their dorm to keep themselves safe away from him was a whole different kind of hurt Harry couldn't fully understand. "Of course, Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let it slip to Potter that he's a muggleborn. I mean. Justin actually _told_ him he'd been down for Eton." The boy shook his head with a deep frown marring his features. "That's just not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin's heir on the loose."

"But. I mean. You, you definitely think it's Potter then, Ernie?" The same shy girl from earlier said, her expression unsure and her fingers playing with her short blonde pigtails as she waited for his answer.

"Hannah." The stout boy, Ernie, looked at her solemnly as if it pained him to tell her something she'd believed in for so long wasn't true. Like Santa Clause or the Tooth Fairy for muggle children. Only in this case it was him that wasn't real, wasn't what they'd been brought up on with stories of his defeat of Voldemort, and Harry wasn't sure how he felt about any of this. He hated being _The-Boy-Who-Live_ but he hated being hated more. Ernie looked at Hannah sadly, but Harry could see a glint in his eyes that told him Ernie was enjoy this. "Potter's a _Parselmouth_. Everyone knows that's the mark of a _dark_ wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent wizard who could talk to snakes? Of course you haven't, because there isn't one." Hannah looked as if she was about to interrupt then, and Harry almost wanted to beg her to say something, to ask questions or deny everything Ernie was saying and stand up and walk away from the gossiping Hufflepuffs. He wanted her to do it so he knew there was someone outside of his circle of friends that didn't think him evil or damaged or deranged. So he knew there was someone in this school that wouldn't skitter off down another hallway when they saw him leaving a classroom, so he knew there was someone who wouldn't turn on their heel and take a different stair route when he, Ron, and Hermione made their way to the Great Hall for lunch. But then Ernie was speaking again and Hannah was biting her lip and looking uncertain but remaining silent. Harry said or did nothing, he just watched them. "You know, they called Slytherin himself _serpent-tongue_. They said he kept the secret of the serpent-tongue such a closely guarded secret that he had monstrous, venomous snakes that could kill you with a look of their strange, golden eyes draped over his shoulders and standing guard outside his rooms. They say he only passed down the knowledge of his dark gift to his children, and to their children, and to their children's children. There's only one way Potter is able to talk to snakes Hannah." Ernie said. "Because he's the Heir of Slytherin." There was some heavy murmuring after this, but Ernie pushed on. "Remember what was written on the wall?" He asked. "_Enemies of the Heir, Beware_." Ernie said in a voice lower than his usual pitch and Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes at the Hufflepuff's attempt to scare his friends. "Potter had some sort of run-in with Filch and the next thing we know Filch's cat has been attacked. And that little first year, Creevey. He was annoying Potter during the Quidditch match last week, taking pictures of him lying in the mud and following him around in the halls and godknows what else he did in their common room to annoy Potter, but the next thing we know – Creevy's been attacked."

"But, he's always seemed so nice though." Hannah said, still sounding uncertain. "He's always helping the first years when they get lost in the halls and he helps Neville with his Defense homework sometimes." Hannah blushed as she said this and Harry frowned wondering why. "Neville says he really good. And he never gets into any fights with anyone other than the Slytherins. He never causes trouble for anyone. And he saved the school last year from Professor Quirrell. And, and well, he's the on that made _You-Know-Who_ disappear. He can't be all so bad, can he?" But Ernie only lowered his voice, pitching his voice lower again and trying to sound mysterious; the Hufflepuffs around him all bent closer to hear him as if it were all some part of a practiced act. Harry rolled at his eyes but edged nearer as well so he could still catch Ernie's words.

"No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean. He was only baby when the attack happened, and his parents were dead and no one could find out what happened for sure. They said James Potter's best friend turned traitor, that he was to blame for the attack, but no one knows what happened inside that house when You-Know-Who came knocking." Ernie said. "Potter _should_ have been killed instantly by the killing curse, but he didn't. He survived. Only a really powerful dark wizard could have survived a curse like that." Ernie dropped his voice lower still, until it was barely more than a whisper. "That's probably why You-Know-Who really wanted him dead, because he didn't want another Dark Lord competing with him. Maybe everything Potter's done so far is all an act; getting into Gryffindor, making friends with muggleborns, getting into fights with the Slytherins, helping the first-years, getting average scores in everything but Defense Against the Dark Arts. It all sounds a little too perfect, right? A little too much like what everyone expects from a savior. What if he's just playing the part and waiting until we trust him before turning on us." Ernie said, before; "_I wonder what else Potter's been hiding_."

Harry smiled to himself as he stepped out from the shadows, it wasn't a nice smile or even a happy one, but he understood now. They were just sheep. They followed the masses and their opinions of him were fickle at best. They didn't fight against the status quo and they didn't have the strength or intelligence to make up their own minds and stick to what they believed in. All it took was one person to plant the seeds of doubt in minds and their faith in him faltered. Well, maybe he didn't want their faith or their belief in him anymore. Maybe he would just leave them to their own mess and let them save themselves for a change – maybe he didn't want to be a savior anymore. _In truth, he never wanted to be a savior in the first place. _Clearing his throat Harry made sure to temper his smile down and soften his expression, making sure to look as if he'd no idea what they been discussing moments ago. If he hadn't been so hurt, his mind still reeling from all the things he'd just learnt and by his resent revelation, then Harry would have probably found the sight that greeted him funny, or amusing at the very least. As it was he currently didn't enjoy it like it deserved to be. Hannah looked embarrassed and guilty, her eyes downcast and her teeth biting down into the soft flesh of her bottom lip. A few of the Hufflepuff girls looked as if they'd been petrified by the mere sight of him, and the girl that had been leaning across the table to better hear Ernie stumbled back into her seat and almost fell onto the floor in her hurry to appear as if she hadn't been doing anything _wrong_ or out-of-the-ordinary. One of the boys dropped his quill in shock, his mouth ajar and his eyes wide and fearful, and Ernie's pallor was quickly starting to resemble the pale, washed-out grey tone of the Hogwarts ghosts.

"Hi." Harry said, using manners more because he knew it would freak them out rather than because he knew it was expected of him. "I'm sorry to interrupt your study session but I'm looking for Justin Flinch-Fletchley. Could you tell me where I might find him? It's rather important." The Hufflepuffs' looked as if their worst fears had clearly been comforted. They all turned and looked fearfully at Ernie, as if he would offer them protection or lead them out of danger with his stellar leadership skills, but Ernie looked as if he two seconds away from running away screaming about snakes and dark wizards and Harry would admit to only himself that he took satisfaction from seeing his fear.

"What do you want with him?" Ernie asked in a quavering voice that he then winced at, as if knowing his voice had just made him seem weak. Only Harry already knew the boy was weak so it was no surprise for him. Ernie tried holding his head high in what Harry guess was his usual pompous manner and he tried to meet Harry's gaze, but Ernie seemed unable to hold his eyes for much longer than a few seconds and Harry wondered what he'd seen in his green eyes that had made Ernie so uncomfortable. He watched as the Hufflepuff boy soon dropped any pretense of bravery and curled on himself. Harry felt his lips curl at the sight and the rest of the Hufflepuffs shrank back with Ernie in tow.

"Just to talk." Harry said, honestly. "Everyone seems to have their own twisted tale on what happened during the Dueling Club." He watched as they shifted uncomfortably in their seats and he knew then that were guilty for at least a few of the rumors. "According to a group of Ravenclaw sixth-years I summoned a three-headed Cobra and commanded it to kill Professor Lockhart, but Justin got in the way. And according to a couple of Slytherin first-years I passed in the halls just now I somehow managed to transfigured myself in a snake and tried to attack Malfoy." He shrugged as if he couldn't care less and Hannah's lips seemed like they were about to smile, but then she was looking at him differently, _worried_, and she looked a little scared as she stared into his cold, green eyes. They all knew there was an anger shimmering just under the surface and even Harry was scared of what would happen if, _when_, it was released. "If he doesn't want to speak to me then fine. But I think I should at least get the chance to defend myself." Harry said. "I could at least tell him what really happened and let him make up his own mind instead of him trying to figure out the truth from all of those ridiculous rumors circling around."

Ernie swallowed heavily, the sound more of a _gulp_ and loud enough that even Harry heard it from where he was leaning against the bookshelf. He'd made sure to leave enough space between himself and the Hufflepuffs so they didn't feel threatened by his close proximity, but it didn't seem to be working too well. Ernie bit his lip then, and he seemed to be thinking hard before he took a deep breath and, finally, answered. "We were all there. We saw what happened." He said with a stubborn jut of his chin.

Harry looked away and hummed, vainly trying to hold back his anger so he didn't lash out at the stupid boy. All he wanted was to talk to Justin and defend himself, wasn't that in his right? But his temper had always been his undoing. He didn't know where it came from but it burned hotter than his magic ever had under his skin and it lit his veins up like Fiendfyre, shooting straight to his heart. His anger felt so strong that it might as well have been a physical _thing_, a monster sitting on his chest and roaring its displeasure at everything that dared move, dared breathe. His anger had got him into trouble with his uncle often enough and it always ended with broken bones and being locked in the cupboard under the stairs for a week. Professor Dumbledore had mentioned his mother hadn't known when to stop speaking or answer back either, and though Harry was glad to learn something about mother and to knew he took after her in temperament if not in looks it had still felt like Dumbledore had been reprehending him and that thought caused the anger in his veins to surge again.

"Well then." Harry said, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his tone soft and polite and not to shout like he wanted to. "You would have noticed that after I spoke to the snake it backed off."

"All I saw." Ernie said stubbornly, though he was still trembling as he spoke. "Was you speaking _Parseltongue_ and chasing the snake _towards_ Justin."

"_I didn't chase it at him_." Harry's calm expression had dropped and he scowled at the other boy with furious, green eyes and a glare that could have killed. His voice shook with anger as he continued and Ernie shrunk back into his seat a little further. "It didn't even _touch_ him."

"It was a very near miss." Ernie said. "And incase you're getting any ideas," he added hastily, "I might as well tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks. My blood is as pure as anyone other Purebloods, even if my family isn't as old as some. So, before you try–"

"I don't give a fuck what sort of blood you've got you _pompous twat_." Harry said, even though he knew Hermione would box his ears if she heard him. The Hufflepuffs looked genuinely shocked at use of language, as if they hadn't expected it from him. Harry recognized the looks of shock and horror on their faces because his aunt had worn the same expression when Dudley had been in the midst of many tantrum and had started cussing to such an extreme that even uncle Vernon's ears had reddened. It was the only time Harry could remember Dudley being punished. "What do I care if you're pure blooded or not?" Harry asked. "Why would I want to attack the muggleborns? I'm a half blood myself and I was brought up in the muggle world, I might as well _be_ a muggleborn." But the Hufflepuffs looked like they were still to shocked at his use of _fuck_ and _pompous twat_ to answer. Which was ironic seeing as they were convinced he was a dark wizard. But for fucks sake, he was only twelve. And so what if he could speak to snakes? _Who cared?_

"I've heard you hate those muggle you live with." Ernie answered after shaking his head. He still looked too pale to be healthy but he had a flush to his cheeks that Harry thought might have been caused by the _pompous twat_ comment. It took him a moment to realize it, and perhaps it was a belated realization, but it didn't matter what he said or how sound his arguments and his logic was, they were never going to listen him. And they definitely weren't going to help him find Justin.

"It's not possible to live with the Dursley's and not hate them." Harry said through cleaned teeth. "I'd like to see you try it." He could have told them of sort of muggles the Dursley's really were, but it was none of there business and honestly Harry didn't want the whole school knowing how bad his home life was. He didn't bother waiting for a reply, he knew it would just be more of the same, so he turned on his heel and walked silently out of the library without looking back to see the reaction of the Hufflepuffs he'd left behind. Madam Prince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a large spell book engraved with a fivefold Celtic knot, gave him a look on as he passed her on his way out but he didn't want anyone's pity and it only made the anger in veins burn hotter. He walked through the corridors with no real destination in mind other than to get as far away from Ernie and the rest of Hufflepuffs as he could possible get. He could find Justin after he'd calmed down Harry decided, but right now he all wanted to do was to get as far away from the teachers and the students as he could; away from the Hufflepuffs and the Gryffindors, and away from the Ravenclaws and the Slytherins. _Why was it so hard to find a place to be alone in a castle as large as this?_ He'd open two classrooms doors to the embarrassed squeals of girls hurrying to cover themselves as their boyfriends turned with their wands raised, only to hesitated as Harry rolled his eyes and slammed the door closed again. He barely noticed where he was going, so when a hand grabbed the loose material at the front of his jumper he was too surprised to struggle as he was pulled into a classroom of to the side of a hallway he didn't recognize.

"_Potter_." Draco Malfoy said in his usual, infuriating drawl as he pushed Harry up against the classroom wall. There was a smug glint to his silver-grey eyes and a slight flush to his cheeks that betrayed his excitement for, for what? _For a fight?_ Because Harry had some anger to let off and if Malfoy was offering him a way to get rid of it he wouldn't complain, but somehow he didn't think it was a fight Draco was excited for. Maybe the flush to his cheeks was just exertion, then. "You really should watch were you're going." Draco said, but Harry was more focused on trying to inch his hand to where his wand that was safely tucked in his back pocket. The only problem in reaching it would be having to pull the ends of his jumper up and getting into his back pocket without Draco realizing. Which yeah, not likely. "Potter." His name was drawled again, but slower this time as Draco's hand flattened against his chest and followed the line down his chest and side until it reached the hand Harry was using to try and reach for his wand. Draco's fingers whispered against his skin with the barest of pressure, his nails scratching against Harry's palm and tickling the inside of Harry's wrist. "Pay." Draco's whispered, his wand tapping against Harry's check with blue sparks spitting from the tip, and Draco's fingers stopped drawing patterns against his palm and instead encircled his wrist and pressed his hand against the wall next to his head. "Attention." Draco said, a pale blonde eyebrow arching with a half-serious mocking expression on his face, and the sound of quiet laughter that _wasn't Draco's_ followed moments later.

Harry looked around the small classroom for the source of the sound, but the room was deserted from what he could tell, until Harry spotted the other Slytherin sitting on the ledge of the only window in the classroom. He was a tall boy, with dark skin and brown, slanted eyes. He was attractive in the way most Purebloods seemed to be, with his high cheekbones and upturned nose and his lips that fell into a natural pout, and as Harry watched him he realized that the dark tone of his skin caught the reflection of the falling snow through the glass of the window. _Calling him beautiful mightn't have been very masculine, but he was. He was beautiful_. The boy's bored expression and the uninterested look in his eyes as he looked back at Harry made him seem less threatening in a way, though Harry was familiar enough with the wizarding world by now that he'd learnt appearances were never really what they seemed at a first glance. Harry couldn't recall the boy's name, though his face was definitely familiar. It made him feel guilty, because Harry knew what it was like to be ignored and to feel invisible and it _hurt_. He watched as the other boy turned back to stared out at the snowstorm still ranging on outside. The top few buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned and his tie was undone, along with the rolled up cuffs of his sleeves. Harry couldn't see the boy's wand, but neither could he see Draco's wand now that he'd pocketed back into his cloak pocket; he didn't feel any more at ease with that knowledge.

"_Bugger_." Ron's favorite curse seemed to sum up Harry's situation perfectly, and by the curl of Draco's lips he seemed to agree.

"Oh, please." There was another flush to Draco's cheeks, though this time it spread down his neck and disappeared under his school robes and Harry found the way Draco's eyes dilated fascinating. He couldn't seem to look away, but he couldn't understand why and it caused him to frown. Draco frowned back at him. "We're not here to curse you." Draco looked mildly affronted by the mere suggestion and Harry had to resist the (very strong) urge to snort in amusement.

"Right. Sure. Because past experiences have proven that my safety while in your presence will remain intact. Not to mention how you have me pressed against the wall and breathing against my face like a vampire. All positive markers, I'm sure." Draco chuckled, though his eyes flashed a molten silver with what might have been indication or amusement or – or _what_?

"If we'd wanted to hurt you we would have done so already." The dark skinned boy spoke quietly, forcing both him and Draco to shut up if they wanted to hear him. "And Draco does have an ancestor who was turned in the late seventeen hundreds, Septimus Malfoy. He sends Draco books on vampires and other dark creatures the ministry would rather we not know about. Maybe Draco's started to pick some of his great-uncle _habits_."

"_I'll give you habits, you pretentious git._" Draco muttered, but both Harry and the other boy ignored him however and shared smile in which they both seemed to find it ridiculously amusing to see Draco flushed and lost for words.

"And, err. Who are you?" Harry blushed at how rude he sounded, immediately wishing he could take the question back, and he ducked his head to avoid the dark eyes of the boy who was watching him silently. Draco laughed openly, and the other boy's lips pulled in a smirk. There was no hurt or anger from him like Harry had been expecting, and Harry somehow managed not to gasp at how different he looked when his eyes were no longer bored or disinterested but shinning with amusement. _Why were all these Pureblood so bloody attractive again? How was that fair?_

"My name is Blaise Zabini. And no, I'm not offended that you asked my name."

"Oh." Harry said, struggled to swallow his blush. "Alright. Hi. Hello, Blaise Zabini." _Really Harry? Really?_

"Whatever." Draco rolled his eyes, though Harry thought he only did it because he didn't like that the attention had moved off of him. "Potter, listen. _Listen to me_. Are you listening?" Harry rolled his eyes and shot Draco an unimpressed looked, a little freaked out when he only grinned in reply. "Good. You need to stop to bending to their will." He said, and Harry frowned. "They're going to break you if you give them half the chance. They'll break you and then they'll take the broken pieces you have left and chip away at them until you fit into the mold they want you to fill. _You're better than that_. So you're a Parselmouth. Deal with it. It might be seen as a dark wizards talent but it's also extremely rare and held in high esteem outside of Britain. Wizards in Egypt worship anyone with the gift and in Peru witches would offer you their blood for ritual sacrifices without a question. They're just too prejudiced here in Britain to see anything past face value. It's not the magic that matters, but the intent of the wizard using it. Don't." Draco paused, seeming lost for words for a moment before finally speaking again. "Don't let them break you. Alright?"

Harry wondered just how far past his hairline his eyebrows had disappeared. "Why do you care?"

"Because. Well. Just, _just because alright!_"

"He cares because you stopped fighting back to his taunts after you started paying them too much attention. I can't say I was to impressed either, he's been insufferable since you've been avoiding him." Blaise answered for his, friend. Where they friends? Harry wasn't sure what they were, if they were friends or not, but Draco certainty seemed more at ease around Blaise than Harry could ever remember seeing him and Blaise seemed to be able to get away with far more than Crabbe or Goyle or Parkinson ever had or could.

"Oh. Wait. _What?_"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I barged into you last week." He said. "You dropped all your books but you didn't even look up to see who'd done it, you just sighed and started picking your stuff back up. And it was then that I realized it was nothing new for you since this ridiculously business about you being the Heir of Slytherin started, that other people had been barging into you and tripping you in the hall and – and that's _not okay_." Harry, blinked. Because his mind was blank and his tongue was heavy in his mouth. He didn't understand why, but hearing Draco say that it wasn't okay how everyone was treating him meant more to him than what he could put into words. "So I tried hexing you. I tried started a fight with you but you'd just look at me and walk away. And that wasn't okay either. I mean. I spelled a timed invisibility curse at your inkpot when you were in the library last week, but you didn't even argue back when Professor Snape gave you detention. And the week before that I called your best friend a mudblood and all you could seem to be able to conjure up was a half-arsed glare. You stopped the Weasel from attempting to hex me with that damned broken wand of his but even then it was only because you were going through the motions." Harry still said nothing but Draco seemed to be getting angrier by the moment. "_See!_ You're still not reacting like you're supposed to."

"Like, I'm supposed to?" _This was all too confusing_.

"Like a Gryffindor." Blaise said.

"Like a human being." Draco shot Blaise a glare but it wasn't long before he was turning back to Harry. "With, with anger or hate, or, or stupidity. _Anything!_ For Merlin's sake. _Some_ sort of reaction would service. You really don't notice it, do you? I can't believe you don't _know_–"

"_Draco_." Blaise warned. "Stop now."

"Where are your goons?" Harry found himself asking when the silence became uncomfortable. He may have been shocked into silence by what was, fundamentally, a pep talk from _Draco bloody Malfoy_ of all people, but Harry wasn't blind and nor was he stupid enough to allow Draco to get himself worked up when Harry was still being pressed into the wall by the blonde Slytherin with no way to reach for his wand. And if he were being honest, Harry also didn't want this to end in a duel. Even though he'd been angry and ready for a fight when Draco had pulled him into the classroom, somehow (now) Harry thought it would just ruin – _whatever this was_.

Draco blinked; once. And then twice in quick succession. "They're down in the Great Hall. They're having a, err, a little pre-charismas feast. Seeing as we get the morning off and all." Harry couldn't help it, he snorted. And then somehow he was laughing along with the two Slytherins who'd kidnapped him into the cold, dank classroom he hadn't even know existed.

–

_Malfoy Manor; Draco Lucius Malfoy; Summer between second and third year.  
July 5__th__ 1992._

The golden brown eagle feather is a familiar weight in his hand, and the quill tip strikes against the fine parchment his mother kept a hearty supply of in his father's study with words being written before Draco can contemplate what or why he's doing this. He reads the letter back and frowns, taking his quill to hand again to edit out the childish rambling and pointless posturing that seemed to occur whenever he was around Potter.

_Potter_

_My father was less than impressed at being outmaneuvered by a twelve year old, though my mother seems to find it amusing. I can't say I miss the Elf, Dobby?, and his eccentric ways but father has been off searching for another House Elf to replace him for the last week, so I suppose I should thank you for the reprieve really. He's rather impossible to be around during the summer, always expecting too much and giving too little. He doesn't like the thought of a [__mudblood]__ girl scoring better than a Malfoy [__of noble blood like mine]__. Sometimes I wish I could tell him that your friend, Granger, is a walking encyclopedia, but he'd just take that as an excuse and assign me more summer tasks with an impossible deadline. I've only just finished the lot he gave me at the start of summer last night, and I can't wait to get out of the Manor – that was our deal, I finish off my assignments and I can leave with Blaise until the end of summer. [__I've been looking forward to this for months__.] I'll be spending the rest of my summer in Tuscany with Blaise and his cousins, from his father's side of the family of course. I don't think I would have agreed if Lady Zabini's family were invited. Theirs is a matronic hierarchy with three sisters at the head, all three of whom have had too many husband's to count on both hands and Blaise is the only son. It means he's a little spoiled but they're also fiercely protective of him, I don't think they'd [__like me if he were to take me home and they definitely wouldn't]__ let us share a room. They call the Zabini Lady's the Black Widows, but no one dares utter it to their faces. I almost wish someone would, just to see what would happen after. [__I'm not worried about meeting Blaise's family,]__ Blaise has been teaching me Italian since our first year so I'll be able to hold a decent conversation in their native tongue and I can be very charming when I want to be. I doubt you'd believe me, but just because I'm a git most of the time doesn't mean my mother didn't teach me how to converse and behave properly in sophisticated society. [__My father never had time to teach me anything, but he always expected the very best from me even when I was too young to understand why he was so mad at me__.] I don't know why I'm telling you this. But, I've been ordering mother's House Elf to pack my luggage all morning, and I may have seen it [and __don't get your Gryffindor sensibilities in a tizzy, I'm just not sure if it's a he or her honesty]__ folding my Quiddtich uniform and it may have gotten me thinking about you. Don't get too excited Potter. So anyway, now I'm writing you a letter in which I haven't a clue what to say or if I'll even send it but I'm doing it anyway. _

_[I'm glad you grew a backbone. I'm glad you didn't let them break you. But I don't like that little Weasel girl; don't talk to her again, okay?]_

_Have you ever been outside of Britain? Blaise had wondered if he should invite you to Tuscany with us, but you don't know us very well __yet__ and Blaise doesn't deal well with rejection. He'd rather wait until he knew you'd accept before asking. But, you live with your muggle family don't you? Would they have let you come with us I wonder? Have they ever taken you travelling? I would, [__I would take you anywhere you'd want to go]__ if you'd let me. My mother would love the chance to educate another Heir with Black blood in his veins, [__even if he is a half blood__.] I wonder what they're like, your family. Would you tell me if I asked? Would you tell me why didn't you take my hand when I offered it? [__Would you answer if I were to ask why we aren't friends?]_

_[Singed; Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient Malfoy Family, Scion of High Warlock Lucius Malfoy__,] Draco Lucius Malfoy._

Draco doesn't post the later, but instead he watches as it burns in the fire of his father's study.

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Third-year.  
May 19__th_ _1993_.

Third year Potions was dreadful. But then second year Potions had been dreadful too, and so had their first year to be fair. There was no reason why this year should be any different and true to form it wasn't. They were attempting to brew a De-Ageing Potion today and Harry could tell by the complex instructions written up on blackboard at the front of the class that it wasn't going to be an easy lesson. Harry and Ron were of course sharing a desk, Hermione having decided to partner up with Neville in the hopes of calming him down enough to get a decent grade in Potions for this term so he didn't fail his exams (again), but Harry and Ron had somehow ended up with the misfortune of sitting behind Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson for the rest of the semester. Pansy Parkinson was a pug faced girl with a blue eyes and dark hair, she had high cheekbones and a sharp chin but she seemed to have missed out on whatever gene it was that made Purebloods so damn attractive. Her voice was high-pitched and irritating, and Harry had witnessed Draco wincing at her more than when whenever she grabbed his arm and cooed into his ear, but nevertheless Draco still flirted and showed off in front of her whenever he got the chance. Harry rolled his eyes.

A few cauldrons away and only fifteen minutes into the lesson, Neville was already in trouble. Potions being his worse subject and thanks to Professor Lupin's show with the Bogart in the teachers lounge the whole school now knew that Professor Snape was Neville's greatest fear, so to Harry it was understand why the shy, quiet boy went to pieces whenever he entered the dungeons. Professor Snape however wasn't so understanding, and he loomed over the desk Neville was sharing with Hermione to peer into his caldron. The De-Ageing Potion was supposed to be bright and acid green in colour, with the consistence of syrup, but instead it had turned– "_Orange_, Longbottom." Professor Snape said with a sneer to his voice and a curled, downturn to his lips as he ladled some of the potion up to show the class as it poured liked water back into the cauldron, the ladle following after it with a _splash_ as Professor Snape all but flung it away. The few drops of potion that had touched the surface of Neville's and Hermione's wooden desk burned before hissing with a high pitched crackling sound as it froze over. Ron seemed to be finding Neville predicament rather funny and Harry could see that his friend was struggling not to laugh so he kicked under the table, hard.

"_Ow!_" They both ducked their heads and tried to look as if they were busy, Ron reaching for his unopened Potions book and Harry trying to act like mixing Flobberworm mucus and frogs brain was the most interesting thing he'd done all day, but Harry knew they must have looked guilty because the Slytherins seemed especially vindictive when they sneered at them. Harry was sure Professor Snape would have rounded on them, deducted a few points and called them dunderheads or a waste of his time, _or both_, but surprisingly he didn't. His beady, black eyes that reminded Harry of his uncle Vernon were fixed on Neville and they weren't moving any time soon.

"Orange." Professor Snape repeated as he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed angrily. "Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only _one _rat spleen was needed? Didn't I state, plainly, that a _dash _of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?" By the end of Professor Snape's rant Neville was a bright pink colour, an embarrassed blush staining his cheeks and neck in blotchy spots of colour and spreading further below the collar of his school shirt and even up to the tips of his ears. Neville was trembling in his seat where he sat being looked down upon by their professor and his crocked nose. Harry and Ron shared a look; Neville looked like he was on the verge of tears, but there was nothing they could do or say that wouldn't make everything worse for him. It wasn't a very Gryffindor thing to do, to sit back and let your friend take the fall when he needed your help, and Ron looked like he was moments away from doing something stupid; again. _And people thought he was the bad one?_ But in the end it was Hermione who jumped in to Neville's defense.

"Please, sir." Hermione's voice was shaking with emotion as she looked from Neville to Professor Snape and back again. "Please. I could help Neville put it right–"

"I don't remember asking you to show off, Miss. Granger." Snape said coldly, and Hermione went as pink as Neville in only half of the time, sinking into her seat as she did. Ron growled from beside him, and Harry felt the same anger displayed so clearly on Ron's face stirring in his veins as he glared over at their Professor from across the room. "Longbottom. At the end of this lesson we will feed a drop of this potion to that toad of yours and see what happens. Perhaps that will be enough of an encouragement for you to complete the potion _correctly_." Snape moved away from Neville and Hermione's desk then with his usual billowing cloak flapping after him, _and he wondered why the first years thought he was a vampire?,_ leaving Neville breathless with fear as he stared after their professor in horror.

Neville turned to Hermione with a pleading expression and glassy eyes as he begged her to help him. But Hermione was already nodding and whispering intrusions to him from the corner of her mouth so Professor Snape didn't catch them. "Hey, Harry." Seamus whispered his name a few more times until he got Harry's attention from the desk behind Harry and Ron's, and Harry turned to look at him as Seamus leaned over to borrow Harry's brass scales, speaking quickly but clearly as he did so as to not notify anyone of their conversation. "Have you heard? It was all over the Daily Prophet this morning."

"No. Why?"

"Oh nothing. Just the Chudley Cannons lost their championship game against Puddlemere United." Here Ron groaned, but Harry had tried explaining that hoping the Chudley Cannons would get onto the league tables any time soon was just _not going to happen_. "St. Mungo's put out a health warning staying Grims don't case death and anyone who comes in looking for treatment will be sent home, apparently there have been a lot of sightings or something. It's all ridiculously anyway."

"_Hey!_ My Uncle Bilius died–"

"Twenty-four hours after seeing a Grim. Yeah. We know." Harry and Seamus rolled their eyes and shared a look over the top of Ron's head.

"Well he did." Ron muttered.

"Whatever." Seamus said, not wanting to get into a familiar argument with Ron over omens and the utter crap that was Divination. Seamus looked around the class as if he didn't want to be overheard before leaning forwards a little closer. "There was some more rubbish about sleazy politicians and Fudge starting his campaign for the Minster's seat in the next election soon, but here's the really good part: they reckon Sirius Black's been sighted."

"Where?" Harry and Ron asked, both turning around in their seats to face Seamus and no longer caring if Professor Snape caught them talking in class. Seamus grinned back at them as he returned to sitting in his seat, looking excited at the chance to retell a new bit of gossip. He was worse then most of the girls in their year sometimes, even Lavender and Parvati who were definitely the worse out of all of the girls _in the entire fucking school_.But Seamus, Seamus was a horrid gossip, but it was made worse because he knew it and enjoyed his unofficial title a little _too_ much.

"Banffshire, just east of Dufftown." Seamus said. "It was a muggle woman that saw him. Of course, she didn't really understand. The muggles just think he's an ordinary criminal, don't they?" Seamus asked, and Harry remembered back to that summer when a police bulletin had interrupted Dudley's favorite television show to warn the public of a dangerous escapee. They'd given a phone number to call if anyone spotted him but had warned the public not to approach or confront him. He remembered how his aunt had rushed to the window as if Sirius Black would be standing on the street corner and he remembered how his uncle had grunted about the scum of humankind, _even worse then your lot_ Vernon had said to Harry, and he remember how Dudley had moaned that he'd missed the favorite part of his show. Harry thought Seamus was probably right; the muggles didn't understand anything of the danger Sirius Black represented. "So, she rang the telephone hotline the Ministry gave the muggle police, but by the time the Aurors got there he was gone."

"What, so he was just gone?"

"Poof." Seamus wiggled his fingers at them. "Vanished." _Like magic_.

"Dufftown." Ron whispered. "That's not too far from here." He said, looking significantly at Harry. Harry sighed.

"Yeah. Not too far from here." Harry repeated, turning back around in his seat so he was facing his cauldron and he checked the flame to make sure it wasn't burning too hot, but his potion was a much brighter shade than Ron's so he figured he must be doing something right. He looked up and frowned when saw Draco watching them closely but without his usual smug look of superiority. "What, Malfoy?" Harry said. "Need something else skinning." He asked sarcastically and Ron snorted beside him.

"We could always make a new tradition. How do you think the Great Hall would look with your skin hung on the wall like a rug, like a prize kill were all the muggleborns and half bloods could point and stare and laugh. Maybe we'll have you spread out over the steps leading up to the stool where Professor McGonagall waits with the Sorting Hat, maybe we'll make all the first-years _walk all over you_ like the piece of trash you are." Ron had a dark, insane glint in eyes, but Harry wasn't surprised. The Blood Feud between the Weasley's and the Malfoy's was long and spread back generations, to Calidora Malfoy and Herbert Weasley. Calidora and Herbert were engaged and from what Harry had found out, very much in love. But when Calidora was brutally attacked by muggles and Herbert ran for help instead of staying to protect his fiancé the Malfoy's ended the engagement and filed for a Blood Feud that was later accepted. The Weasley's were stripped of their Ancient and Noble name and their money and lands were given to the Malfoy's as recommence. Weasley Manor was sold off and their land was broken into little pieces, and the money the Malfoy's made from the sales and from the money the Weasley's had also been made to had over was used as a dowry to marry Calidora off to Lycoris Black. Herbert was heartbroken. He never married nor did he look at another woman, he died alone.

Harry lowered his head to avoid Draco's angry eyes. Personally he thought that both the Weasley's and the Malfoy's had suffered and caused enough pain, and Herbert Weasley and Calidora Malfoy's tragic love story was in the mid-thirteenth centaury, surely that was enough time to forgive? But then again, from the little Harry knew about Blood Feuds, causing the death or permanent injury to an Heir or Heiress was unforgiveable. It was why the Weasley's had been labeled as Blood Traitors. Harry didn't like it, but he understood.

"Shut up, Weasel." Draco dismissed Ron easily enough, brushing his insults off as if it were a speck of dust on cuff of his shirt. His eyes were fixed on Harry; there was a slight downturn at the corner of his lips and Harry recognized that same emotion in Draco's eyes from last year, from inside that small abandoned classroom he hadn't known existed where he'd meet a different Draco Malfoy to the one he was used to. Only, now Harry could put a name to that emotion whereas he couldn't before. _Concern_. _Draco was concerned for him_. Harry wasn't sure what to make of it. He and Draco had had one shared conversation that had been more of Draco sprouting off about things Harry hardly understood while Blaise watched them from the window ledge in the back of the room. They'd shared a conversation that had in all honesty stopped him from going insane last year when everyone was still whispering about him being the Heir of Slytherin and a dark wizard in disguise. But Harry wasn't a fool enough to think that that changed anything between them. Sure, there had been a few shared looks from across the Great Hall, a couple of smiles that weren't smirks, and a few taunts that felt more like a joke between friends. But still. Nothing had changed. Not really. "Potter." Draco had moved in his seat so he was sitting in it sideways, his legs spread around the leg of his desk and his injured arm from Buckbeak's claws resting on the back of his chair with a poorly hidden flinch that Harry knew wasn't faked. Draco leaned forwards over his chair and closer toward Harry before speaking. "You're not thinking of trying to catch him singlehanded are you, Potter?" There was that look again, the one he'd seen from across the Great Hall at the end of last year when he'd emerged from Hogwarts Hospital Wing a week after his and Ron's unplanned rescue-mission to save Ginny from the Camber of Secrets. The _you're an idiot but I'm glad you're all right_ look that had been mirrored in Blaise's dark eyes. Of course the worry had turned to anger when he and Ron had greeted Hermione back with a great, three armed and awkwardly placed hug as she awoke from her petrified state. And maybe there had been a little hate in their eyes as they looked at Hermione that'd made him uncomfortable. And maybe there had been a little jealously in their eyes as they watched him laugh and smile with Ron as their house welcomed Hermione back as well. And maybe Harry didn't like to think about it because he couldn't understand it.

"Yeah. Sure. Why not." Harry agreed, making sure that his voice sounded bored and shrugging his shoulders as if he hadn't really thought about it. He tried not to feel uncomfortable under the _not_hostile look Draco was watching him with, but it was…_strange_.

"Of course." Draco's silver-grey eyes flickered over to Ron who was watching them with a deep-set frown and Harry watched as a familiar, smug look spread across Draco's face. After all, it was one thing to care for your supposed enemy but it was another thing all together to let anyone _know_ that you cared for your supposed enemy. And to a Malfoy, appearances were everything. "If it were me." Draco continued on in a quiet voice, his eyes looking across the room to see if Professor Snape was watching them, but their professor was currently walking down the isles between the desks on the other side of the room and leaning over to examine potions with sharp-tongued criticisms when he them found it lacking. Draco's eyes caught Blaise's as he was about to look away. The other boy was watching their interaction with a carefully blank face but he nodded once when Draco arched a brow, a small action that Harry doubted anyone but him had been paying enough attention to catch. Blaise gave Draco one last look, his dark eyes strangely intense, before he turned back to the desk he was sharing with Theodor Nott to add in the next ingredient to his bubbling cauldron. "I would have done something before now." Draco said when his attention had been drawn back to Harry's face. He still wore that infuriating smug look and Harry wanted nothing more than to punch it right off his face. "I wouldn't have stayed in school like a good little boy. I'd be out there. Looking for revenge. But." He sighed, low and fake. "I suppose that's why you're a better person then I am. You'd never kill or torture for revenge, right?"

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Ron asked, hate and distrust in every line of his body as he stared at Draco through narrowed eyes. Ron's fingers were wrapped around the bronze cutting knife they'd been sharing to cut the thick roots of the wormwood for the De-Ageing Potion, but then Ron's hands began to clench into fists in his anger and Harry had to reach over to take the knife from him with a worried look at the blood on the blade and the cut on Ron's palm but Ron didn't even seem to notice. Harry hoped it didn't get infected but wormwood was used in potions to counteract the parasites and acids from the raw meats of ingredients like rat's spleen and dragonfly thorax so maybe it would actually be good for fighting of an infection. But, Harry was no potions expert – _he'd take Ron to Madam Pomfrey after class had ended just in case_.

"You mean you don't _know_, Potter?" _This was important, wasn't it? Somehow, this was important_.

"Don't know what?" Draco's silver-grey eyes reminded Harry of the storm that had ranged on outside while he, Draco, and Blaise hid away in that small abandoned classroom he hadn't even known existed, and the memory caused a shock to go through him as he stared back into those eyes. He listened without a word as Draco let out a low, sneering laugh, but Harry could see the emotions behind his Slytherin-esk mask now and he could see the worry and the reluctance in his eyes as he continued to speak. But they'd started this game now. They had to finish it.

"Maybe you'd rather not risk your neck." Draco said. "Revenge is great and all but when you're up against someone like Black who is thrice your age and has more knowledge of the dark arts in his _pinkie_ then what you could defend against in your whole, _what_, three years of study? Maybe it's for the best that you stay behind. Maybe's it for the best that you leave it to someone who knows what they're doing to bring him down. I mean, it's messy business after all. Killing someone; all that blood and that gore that comes with it." Draco smiled at him. It wasn't a nice smile, it was dark and twisted in a way Harry had never seen before and it was a smile that didn't offer any of the reassurance Harry hadn't realized he'd come to expect from _Draco Malfoy_ of all people. But, it was a smile that derives its pleasure from the story Draco's words had spun and woven around them, a story about killing someone that had apparently wronged Harry, a story about _Sirius Black_, and Harry wasn't sure what he was supposed to think or to feel in answer to any of this. "Maybe you'd want to leave it to the Dementors." Draco continued with a barely there moment of hesitation. "My father hold me that The Kiss is a horrible thing to witness, but I'd endure. I'd want to watch it; _I'd_ want my revenge. But then, if it were me, I'd be out there hunting him down myself. I'd hunt him down and I'd _gut him like a dog_."

"_What are you talking about?_" Ron said, demanded, half-shouted, but then Professor Snape was speaking and Draco had spun back around in his chair and started stirring his potion in a counter clockwise motion as if he hadn't just been talking to the two Gryffindor's Professor Snape hated most.

"You should have finished adding your last ingredients by now." Professor Snape drawled, his hands clasped behind his back as he continued his slow walk down the isles between desks. "This potion needs to be kept at a constant heat if it is to be administered correctly. You will know when the potion is stable by its colour, the green will lighten from cloudy to a bright, acid green." Professor Snape said. "You will clear away your ingredients and clean your workstations _thoroughly_ as you leave your potions to simmer. The fire should not be hotter than sixty degrees and no lower than fifty-four degrees, the flame should be blue – _you should already know this Mr. Thomas_. Five points from Gryffindor for incompetence." Snape said as he passed Dean and Seamus' desk. "Longbottom. We will be testing your potion the moment it stabilizes." Crabbe and Goyle laughed openly, watching Neville sweat as he stirred his potion and fanatically reached for the Belladonna. Harry watched as Neville took a pinch too much of the powered leaves and whined as his potion darkened from the light turquoise colour it had been to a muddy grey. Hermione was shaking her head and looking just at frantic as Neville as she continued to whisper the correct instructions out from the corner of her mouth so that Snape wouldn't see her helping him. Her eyes flickered over to their professor occasionally as she gathered her unused ingredients slowly and acted like she couldn't fit her potions book in her tightly packed bag so she would have more time to whisper advice to an anxious Neville. Harry watched as Hermione worried the flesh of her lower lip with her slightly large front teeth and eyed Neville's potion with a worried frown as Neville continued to struggle. Most of the Gryffindor's were watching Neville struggle with varying degrees of worry actually, Harry and Ron included, but Hermione couldn't do any more then she already was. Though Harry doubted he be able to convince her of that, not even later when they were hold up in the safety of their common room and could talk freely about what a git Professor Snape was, so he turned to help Ron pack away their own ingredients and joined him in the short line to wash their hands and ladles in the stone basin that sat in the far corner of the room. "What do you think he meant?" Harry asked Ron when they reached the front of the line, sticking his own hands under the icy jets of water that poured from the broken mouths of the three-headed gargoyle's where Ron's was already soaping up his hands. "Why would I want revenge on Black? He hasn't done anything to me. Well, not yet anyway." Harry sighed, frustrated. "But the way he spoke…it was like he knew something."

"He's just making it up." Ron said.

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he's Malfoy." Harry rolled his eyes. "Look, I don't know mate, but you can't trust anything a Malfoy says. He's just trying to get you to do something stupid and get yourself killed, or worse, _expelled!_" Ron shrugged with an amused glint to his eyes as he retold Hermione's genuine concern of being expelled rather than being killed by the three-headed monstrous Cerberus (name Fluffy) that they'd discovered in their first year, and Harry ignored the urge to tell him that Draco wouldn't do that. Because he wouldn't. _Right?_ "Don't let him get to you, mate." What was it with everyone saying that to him recently? Did he have a _stupid_ or _idiotic_ tattooed across his forehead next to his cursed scare? _Actually, that might explain some of the strange looks he'd been receiving lately, since this whole drama with Black started and everyone started acting overprotective of him for some reason_. A frustrated sound crawled its way out of his throat and Ron nudged him with his shoulder in response, shooting him a wide grin that showed off his teeth in an attempt to ease his worry. Harry managed a smile and sighed in relief when Ron bought it, clapping his shoulder with one last squeeze before heading back over to their desk to finish cleaning up. It was only then, somewhat belatedly, that Harry noticed their was another figure standing by the basin washing his hands. Harry had no doubt he'd heard every word of Harry and Ron's conversation.

"I don't suppose you know what he was trying to tell me?" As Blaise looked at him the apathetic expression he usually wore seemed to weaver for a moment and he took steps towards Harry to lean his hip against the edge of the basin Harry was standing by. Blaise nodded in answer to his question, and just like earlier it was only once but somehow that was enough. There was a deep breath taken as one from the students behind them and Harry shot a quick look over his shoulder to see the Gryffindors and Slytherins surrounding Professor Snape in a half circle with their eyes fixated on Trevor the Toad as Snape dropped a few small droplets of Neville's potion onto the poor creature that was wiggling and struggling to escape from Snape hold. Harry knew the moment the potion had started to work, Trevor the Toad's croaks became high pitched and less croaky and his skin started to clear up from the warts that had developed with age, so Harry turned away from the scene now that he knew Neville's potion wouldn't kill the poor creature that was always disappearing to some place or another and he turned back to see Blaise frowning. It was a normal expression so it shouldn't have surprised, but it did. Because Blaise didn't show emotion around anyone unless he wanted to. Or unless he trusted them enough to show them normal emotions and expressions that he usually kept so carefully hidden.

When Blaise did speak it was in the same low tone he'd used in the abandoned classroom last year that had forced Harry and Draco to shut up if they wanted to hear him, and it worked again then to quieten the buzz of Harry's ever-constant thoughts that made no sense. "Sirius Black was your father's best friend." When Blaise finally did speak Harry almost wished he hadn't. Harry froze where he was drying his hands on the old, potion-stained rag that hung over the head of the three-headed gargoyle and he tried not to give into the anger that burned cold through his veins. "They call him the traitor friend. He was the reason your house in Godric's Hallow was attacked, the reason your parents died and the reason you were sent to live with your mother's relatives. Your parents had gone into hiding, like many families back then did after the birth of an Heir, and to protect his family James Potter cast a spell called the Fidelius Charm. The spell involves keeping a secret, like the location of a house or information on a newly born Heir, hidden within the _soul_ of a person the caster trusts. The secret is then irretrievable unless the Secret Keeper chooses to reveal it, those who have the secret revealed to them cannot reveal it to others and if the spell is strong enough sometimes the secret is even obliviated from their mind once they pass through the wards of the spell. Your father chose his best friend to protect the lives of his family, of his young wife and his newly born son. Of course he did, it was an obvious choice, but in the end it was the wrong choice."

"The wrong choice? Because he was traitor." _They call him the traitor friend_. The fire had reached his heart, and it burned so hot it was cold. It was so cold that Harry couldn't feel his heart, it was as if someone what ripped his chest open and stolen it from him.

"Yes." Blaise whispered. His dark eyes were so full of sadness, _so full of sadness_ _for Harry_, that Harry thought he might cry even with his chest ripped open and bleeding and even without his stolen heart there to feel the pain of the ugly emotion Harry could feel crawling under his skin. Blaise hesitated, but then he reached out and curled his fingers around Harry's wrist. "They were in the same house during their time at Hogwarts. James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. They were the closest of friends from the moment they met on the Hogwarts express for the first time when they were elven, but when Sirius Black turned traitor he killed Pettigrew and Lupin left England. Some said it was to mourn but others just called him a coward." Professor Lupin knew his father? Had he know his mother as well? Why hadn't he said anything? Where had he been while Harry was growing up under the heavy hand of his muggle aunt and abusive uncle? "When Sirius Black was sixteen his mother kicked him out of the family home, but his father refused to disown him so he remained a Black. He went to beg refuge at the Potter's Manor in Dorset, and your father and his parents took him without question." Blaise said. "Your grandmother was a Black by birth, so she had bloodties to Sirius that urged her to protect him. Some questioned if Sirius used that knowledge against her but know on one ever found out for sure." There was a moment of hesitation, and Harry wanted to beg Blaise to carry on, to not stop talking yet, but he only stared at Harry with a strange look in his eyes for a long few moments before continuing. "Your grandmother's name was Dorea. She was a famed beauty in her youth and a magnificent witch; she kept to the Old Ways and convinced her husband to let her care for Sirius when he went to them. There had been some talk of an adoption but Lord Black, Orion, who was Sirius' father, he wouldn't hear of it." Blaise said. "Dorea Black was Sirius' great-aunt. Which makes you and Draco second cousins once removed." Blaise's fingers tightened around Harry's wrist as if he knew what it meant to Harry to find out that he had a wider family in the wizarding world. But, _wait_. He and Draco where related? _Wasn't that a little, weird?_ "Sirius Black stayed with the elder Potter's until he was nineteen, when an uncle of his died and left him a small fortune. He bought a small house in the middle of muggle London with the money he'd been left and your father moved in with him while they trained to be Aurors together with the Department of Magical Law in the Ministry." Harry didn't even hear the noise of the Slytherin's disappointment or the Gryffindor's applause as Trevor the Tadpole wriggled uncomfortably in Professor Snape's palm. Nor did he hear the unfair point deduction from Gryffindor for Hermione's help in creating Neville's potion. All he could think of was Blaise, and Blaise's words, and what Blaise's words _meant_. "He was the best man at your father's wedding and when you were born he was named as your godfather." _No_. "I'm sorry. And for what it's worth, so is Draco."

–

_Tuscany; Blaise Arcturus Zabini; Summer between third and fourth year.  
June 30__th__ 1993._

When Blaise had originally written to Harry Potter he hadn't expected a reply, and he certainty hadn't been expecting an owl to fly through his open bedroom window as if the wards and the complex, interwoven protection spells surrounding his family home were nothing but pretty little lights. _What sort of owl was this?_ Blaise called for Elf and stared, wary and in a little bit of awe at the owl who just blinked back at him and raised her leg for him to retrieve the letter still attached to her leg. She was a fine specimen, and very beautiful. Beauty was something all Zabini's learned to admire and lust after. If her delivery turned out to be harmless then Blaise would very much like to feel her feathers beneath his fingers, but he wasn't optimistic. His uncle had commissioned the Creti Goblins to weave a new set of runes into their family wards that were supposed to ward off letters and parcels from strangers after Blaise's younger cousin opened an unmarked parcel that had been spelled with a nasty Burn Hex. The hex had activated the moment his small fingers tore at the brightly coloured paper. He was only seven, too young to know better. But it wasn't a new thing, having an uncle as a High Warlock who sent more than one wealthy wizard with dangerous connections off to the Dementors made it dangerous for all of them and they'd learnt to be careful as they grew up. But Maliki, his younger cousin who still had his hands wrapped in foul smelling potions and bandages, was too young to know better.

After ordering the House Elf to de-spell the letter and frowning when the Elf told them it was nothing more than a piece of parchment, he took the letter from the Elf's long, boney fingers and dismissed it back to the kitchens. _If I promise [to __try] and__ not get into any trouble next year, will you stop being angry at me?_ The note read in a messy hand, and Blaise smiled to himself as he reached for a quill and an inkpot from his desk. _Perhaps_, he wrote in a neat scrip on the back of the note before reattaching it the leg of the beautiful snow owl that had delivered her precious message and was now diligently waiting for his reply. She sat on the wooden perch that Hermes, Blaise's black and brown feathered falcon owl, usually settled upon in all his regal countenance and Blaise wondered if the snow owl would like Hermes, for Hermes would certainty love her. The white owl stared back at him with large, stunning amber eyes before nipping his fingers running through her feathers affectionately. She hooted once, jumping down from the wooden perch and flying away back through his open window as if she'd never been there in the first place. Blaise wondered if he'd get another reply or letter this summer or if he'd have to wait until September until he saw Harry Potter again. He sighed, sitting down at his writing desk to pen an open invitation to Draco to come visit him in Tuscany some time soon.

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Fourth-year.  
December 25__th__ 1993._

Of course his fourth of Hogwarts couldn't be simple. _Of course not_. The Triwizard Tournament had been established roughly seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the wizarding schools of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and the Durmstrang Institute. It was held every five years with the competition being hosted by each school in turn, and the judges for the Tournament were comprised of the headmasters and headmistresses of each of the schools. It all sounded good on paper, until you added in an incompetent Minister trying to gain the publics favor for the next elections by building very public diplomatic relationships with foreign countries. And, it might all sound good on paper until you consider the fact that the Tournament was banned a hundred years ago after two of the Champions died and the last surviving Champion forfeited the Tournament for a _reason_. And then of course there was the small issue of a faulty Goblet of Fire that spat out one too many names, which had forced Harry into a magical, binding contract that he hadn't signed himself up to be on. So now Harry was trying to survive against Dragons and a screeching Golden Egg he didn't know what to do with with only his four years of magical theory against three seventeen, matured wizards and witches. He was _doomed_. The Triwizard Tournament had disillusioned any hope Harry had been holding onto of having a normal year at Hogwarts. _Saving precious stones in his first year, slaying huge snakes in his second year, reuniting with half-insane godfathers in his third year, and now forced into a tournament for his fourth year. Maybe he should consider changing schools? Durmstrang Institute was secluded and famed for its high profile students who lived and studied and had normal lives behind its wards, and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic was far more tolerant of magical creatures and taught a wider ranger of magic than either Hogwarts or Durmstrang had to offer. Seriously, maybe he should consider transferring or something._ When Dumbledore had first told them about the Triwizard Tournament during the Welcome Feast Harry had been excited; finally he could take a back seat and let someone _else_ deal with having the magical lens dissecting every aspect of their lives, but of course it wasn't meant to be. He should have known better. He'd learnt long ago not to allow himself to want anything, because the disappointment only hurt more when he allowed himself to hope for it.

On the other hand, this year had been very informative. He'd learnt that fame, whether it was given to someone for their skills as it had for Viktor Krum or whether it was giving to someone from birth like it had for Fleur Decour, fame was a burden no one was ready for. He'd learnt that Fleur Decour was a half-Veela and she liked to spend time with him because he wasn't affect by her thrall, but she wouldn't tell him what that meant. He'd learnt that Viktor Krum was sourly but a good person once you got past his gruff exterior. He'd learnt that Hufflepuffs were fiercely protective of their own and that Cedric Diggory had decided that he was going to defend Harry against the rest of the school at any cost, even going out in a _Support Potter, Support Hogwarts_ badge to counteract the horrible _Potter Stinks_ badges flying around. He'd also learnt that Ron could be a jealous git with a vindictive streak as bad as any Slytherin's. He'd learnt that while Ron was a good friend when he wasn't too busy being jealous he couldn't apologize or admit to what he'd done wrong. And Harry had learnt that while he could force a smile and laugh at the same bad jokes they'd always found amusing in the past he couldn't make everything all right between them by pretending it was. He'd also learnt that jealously came in more than one form, and he swore to himself that he would never sneak of to that abandoned classroom he hadn't know existed before Draco and Blaise had shown it to him without being invited again.

[_There's a hand fisting Draco's hair, forcing his head back with another hand clasped over his neck preventing him from backing off the cock in his mouth. There's a thumb pressed against his pale throat where Blaise's cock makes his throat swell and stretch and Draco moans at the touch. The hand on Draco's neck doesn't let him bend his back in an effort to open his airway or break out of the hold that has him trapped there, and there's a beautiful flush of colour on Draco's cheeks as he stares up at Blaise from in-between his spread legs. Draco doesn't seem to mind the rough treatment, his pale eyelashes fluttering against the soft-shadowed hallow of his eyes and he moans desperately with his nails scratching deep indents into Blaise's naked hips. Blaise looks like he enjoys the feeling of a moan on his cock, if the way his dry lips part and he pants loudly are any guess. He manipulates Draco's body how he wants to, forcing his head at an angle were he's struggling for breath, where he chokes as Blaise pushes in and tries to lean forward to keep the cock in his mouth when Blaise pulls out, and Draco cries out desperately with hands fluttering at his own belt and buckle as Blaise fucks into his mouth faster and faster. There are tears clinging to Draco's long eyelashes when he finally wraps a hand around himself. Draco cries a little harder when he realizes he can't draw enough air into his lungs to moan or beg for more and Harry watches from the doorway as his eyes roll into the back of his head and his hand tightens against the flushed, heavy flesh of his own cock. And then Blaise stops, holding himself there with his cock pressed fully into Draco's mouth and he stares down at him, enjoying Draco's desperation as his hand works at his own cock. Blaise stares at the swell of his cock against the long arch of Draco's neck as if he can't get enough of the sight of it; he looks like he might laugh, or like he might cry, and he looks like he wants to pull Draco up from the floor so he can kiss him and bury his nose into the stretch of skin that joins Draco's neck and shoulder, he looks like he wants to take both of their cocks in his hand and work them off together. But he's too close, Harry can see it in the way his eyes flutter and his limbs shake and jerk in uncontrolled movements. Blaise pulls out, against Draco's attempt at keeping his cock in his mouth, only to push back in again and again. He scraps his nails against Draco's pale throat and his hand tightens as if he wants nothing more than to choke Draco. He looks like he's savoring every moment of it and his head falls back with wide lips and a strangled gasp as –_]

Harry's also learnt that Galas and Balls turned even the most levelheaded girls into crazy, illogical messes. And the Yale Ball just so happens to be today.

The muggles would celebrate it as Christmas, but the wizards and witches who followed the Old Ways stilled celebrated it as Yule. Yule was a day where magic was at it's strongest, which is why so many bonding ceremonies were performed on Yule eve, and creatures and wizards both prejudiced to the light and dark side of their curses held a ceasefire over the holidays to celebrate the magical festives that took place all over the world tonight. Harry didn't much care what they called it, Yule or Christmas or Noel, he still hated it. It was something Ron and Hermione didn't understand it, and if he were being honest he hoped they never would because it would steal a piece of their innocence in the process. He hated Christmas. He hated Yule. The holiday season left him feeling isolated with something bitter that lingered on his tongue like a bad taste, and maybe he'd let the hate grow and let it twist him into the cynical boy Hermione seemed so afraid he was going to become. Harry had thought since he'd come to Hogwarts that he'd forgotten about the lingering hurt, or at least that he'd learnt to move past it, but it was a lie. _Bullshit_. Some hurts just couldn't be forgotten. Harry had tried for years to forget the hunger that had gourned away at his stomach as a young child. He tried to forget how he'd curled his arms around his battered legs and had to bend his back to fit into the small cupboard under the stairs. He'd hated how small it was, how dark and cold it was, how claustrophobic it made him feel and how sick he'd become from spider and insect bites. Harry tried to forget how stiff and sore his muscles would feel after being lock away for a few days or a few weeks. He desperately tried to forget the smell and the shame as his aunt would stand over him and make him clean the mess he'd made of himself and the cupboard with a red bucket of boiling, bleach filled water. He'd tried to forget the all-consuming darkness behind the locked door of the cupboard under the stairs and he tried to not remember how much the darkness he'd been locked away in had worsened his eyesight. He tried to forget how he had cried as Christmas morning came around and he heard Dudley tearing into mountains of presents. He tried to forget how he had rocked himself to sleep to the sound of Dudley refusing to eat his brussel sprouts but demanding seconds and thirds and fourths of the pudding Harry's aunt Petunia had spent all day cooking all day. _Some hurts just couldn't be forgotten_.

Harry sighed. His mood must have become obvious after a few hours of staring out of the window he was curled up beside in the Gryffindor common room, because Ron had left his chess game with Seamus to come over and sit in an identical overstuffed chair with red cushions to the one Harry was sat in. Ron had made a few attempts to draw Harry into conversation but with very little success, and soon after Hermione had joined them with a demand that they dress warmly and hurry back down so they could go outside together. Harry had refused at first but in the end he'd found himself being dragged by Ron up to their dormitory and manhandled into some of the older clothes of Dudley's that were still too large for him before Ron was leading him back downstairs where the laughing Weasley twins and Hermione were waiting for them. Harry rolled his eyes but let himself be herded outside. They come to a stumbling stop as they reached the front steps leaning out onto Hogwarts vast grounds, and Harry's eyes widened at the sight that greeted them. A fine layer of fresh, untouched snow covered the ground with the expectation of the deep channels carved out by the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students as they made their way to and from the castle. The snow dusted the top of the Hagrid's hut and clung to the green leaves of the Forbidden Forest, coating the needles on the tress in strange and beautiful patterns. The snow had whitened _everything_ in sight, had crystalized the moss covering the trunks of the tress and had frozen the Black Lake into a massive ick rink. But Harry's attention was suddenly diverted from the picturesque sight Hogwarts made by Ron, who had thrown a rather sloppily built snowball his way. Hermione, rather smartly in Harry's opinion, choose to just watch the fight as Ron and Harry paired up against Fred and George. But after a few hours and feeling thoroughly beaten by the twins Harry called himself out of the fight and moved to join Hermione under the old ash tree she'd taken protection under with a Potion's textbook opened in her lap.

"Oh, Harry." Hermione giggled quietly and reached up with her purple-gloved hand to brush the snow away from his wet fringe, smiling in a way she hadn't in weeks. Harry had missed her smile, and it took him until that moment to realize he wasn't the only one who was unhappy this Yule. Because while Hermione may have been smiling at him with a pink flush to her cheeks and a little bunny-like scrunch of her nose, she didn't really look happy. "What are we going to do with you?" She asked, and it only took a moment for Harry to make his decision._ It's had been too long since Hermione laughed._ So, with a grin of his own, Harry shook his head to flick the melted snow over the over the two of them and listened as Hermione squealed and laughed loudly, leaning away from him while closing her book against her chest so the pages didn't get damaged. "Harry!" She begged, still laughing, and Harry decided to ignore how she knew not to plead _uncle_ and smiled over at her instead. Hermione reached back out towards his hair and tugged on a few strands of his fringe. "It's really does look a lot nicer like this, Harry. And it's much more manageable now it's a little longer." She said, smiling when he sent her an unimpressed look. "Well, it does."

"Thanks. I think?"

"Oh don't be silly, Harry. You know what I mean." She said, and while yes Harry did know what she meant it was still too much fun to annoy her. He had the same black hair he always had, but it had grown out over the summer so it was no longer short and unmanageable and wild in the famous Potter style. He'd managed to stay out of the Dursley's way over the summer so his aunt hadn't an excuse to take the kitchen scissors to hair, and while at the moment his hair was curling with melted snow and dripping down onto his grey-green jumper that Hermione had bought for him for Yule he found he preferred it a little longer. It was easier to manage and after having met Ron's oldest brother Bill, he thought maybe he would try growing it out into a short ponytail. Maybe it would suit him but maybe it wouldn't, half the fun was in the trying. "It's a little wet maybe, but it's nice. Different." Hermione shrugged. "It almost doesn't look like you. You can't see your scar and the way it frames your face makes you look older. You look, well you look…" Hermione hesitated in finding a word to finish off her sentence and her head tilted to the left as she stared at him. Harry had seen Crookshanks doing the same thing as he prowled through the Gryffindor common room chasing after untied shoelaces and searching for Chocolate Frogs that had jumped out of their owner's hands, it reminded Harry of the muggle saying; _pets look like their owners_, and Crookshanks certainty had wild enough hair to hold true to the saying. "You look handsome." Hermione blushed when he arched an eyebrow at her, rushing and stumbling over her words as she hurried to explain. "Not that you weren't already handsome, Harry. Because you were, it's just more obvious now and people are starting to take notice of that. Not that I see you that way of course, but that doesn't mean you're not still handsome. You're just, you…you were my first friend. And I know maybe sometimes I might be a little clinging but, you saved me from a life of living through books and hearing about other peoples adventures and _you really can stop me at any time now, Harry_." Harry couldn't help it, he laughed. And the sound was loud enough that it drew the attention of Ron and the twins over to them.

"Oi. What's so funny?" Fred asked, his hands compacting snow into a large ball between his gloved hands and he was eyeing Ron from behind his brother's back. Harry grinned.

"Nothing, mate. Don't worry it." Ron frowned at Harry's answer, forgetting to watch out for his mischievous brothers as he turned so he was facing them, and he narrowed his eyes at them as if they were keeping a secret and he knew it. But there was nothing interesting for him to find. Hermione was sitting with her back leaning against the trunk of the ash tree and Harry was lying beside her with his weight resting on his right elbow. Hermione's cheeks were still flushed from her earlier embarrassment but she'd reopened her Potion's textbook in her lap now there was no risk of the delicate pages getting ripped or damaged and was mostly lost in the text. Harry had his ankles crossed and his hair was dripping with melted snow he hadn't managed to shake off and he was watching the twins plan their sneak attack on Ron, who as always remained oblivious. Harry supposed they must have looked quite intimate to anyone who didn't know them well enough see the sibling-esk affection they felt for each other. Harry doubted they look any more or less affectionate then when it was the free of them and he knew that was partly the reason-to-blame for the threesome rumors circling the halls. The thought made him laugh. Because, just no. _Not with Ron and Hermione anyway_. But there was a hurt look in Ron's eyes as he looked from Harry to Hermione and back again, and Harry knew what Ron was thinking then; Harry and Ron still weren't okay from the incident of Ron turning his back on Harry when his name was spat from the Goblet of Fire, and the affectionate friendship they'd had hadn't recovered. Yet. Because Harry sincerely hoped it would recover. _He didn't want to loose Ron_. Harry smiled over at Ron the best he could before gasping as Fred took his chance and lobbed his carefully crafted snowball at his brother, it landed with a perfect aim and even Hermione snorted as they watched the snow slide down Ron's cheek and drop onto his shoulder and chest. Hermione bit into the flesh of bottom lip with her new, magically shorted front teeth and tried not to join George and Harry in their laughter as they watched Fred being chased across the icy ground by his younger brother.

George was holding his sides as if he were in pain, his face flushed an unattractive red that clashed horribly with his hair and reached to even the tips of his ears, and he watched as his twin tripped and stumbled as he was chassed by Ron who was having just as much trouble staying up right, but he offered no help to either of his siblings. "It must be nice." Hermione whispered, watching the brother's throwing messy snowballs at each other as they their fight descended into madness with Fred letting out a war cry and jumping on top of Ron, cause to snow to rain around them from the scuffle, and he was quickly followed by George. They watched as Ron cried out for mercy only to be ignored and laughed at when George charmed his hair a bright blue. Hermione was smiling at them, her lips curling into a crooked grin. Harry thought she looked rather pretty in that moment. "It must be nice to have the sort of relationship with your brothers. To have someone who will love you, regardless of the choice you make. And you know they'll keep loving you, because they're your family." Being an only child was both a gift and a curse Harry supposed, but he was hardly someone who could speak about what a normal childhood should look like.

"Hermione." She hummed in answer. "What's wrong?" Harry asked, looking up at Hermione with worried eyes and he watched as she turned to look at him, her eyes a mixed tone of browns and ambers shinning with what Harry had a horrible feeling was tears. _Why was Hermione crying?_ "Hermione?"

"Have you…" Hermione hesitated, her eyes dropping to the open textbook in her lap and her gloved fingers tracing over an italicized titled that read _Bundimun Pomade_ with a little, sad smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Have you ever, _liked_ someone?" She asked. "Someone you really shouldn't?" She added a moment later and Harry frowned. He looked away from her and towards the castle, to where he could hear the school orchestra testing their instruments and running through the set songs in one final rehearsal before the Yule Ball officially started. He looked away from Hermione to where he could see Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall levitating chairs and tables through the open doors of the Great Hall where the Yule Ball was going to be taking place in only a few, short hours. He looked away from Hermione to where he could hear the echoes of excited laughter drifting out to them from all four corners of the castle. He imaged himself and Ron heading back inside and going up to their dormitory to change into their Formal Robes. Harry's robes where a lot more expensive then Ron's but for once he refused to feel guilty for it. If he had to lead the entire school in a dance to officially open the Yule Ball then by Merlin he was going to make sure he looked good while he was doing it. His robes were a darker shade of grey-black, with fine trousers and a crisp white shirt that had small black buttons and black stitching. Sirius had sent him a set of silver cufflinks with the Potter emblem carved into the precious metal as a Yule present and Harry had a waistcoat that he planned to wear with them, it was sown with runes stitched along the inside of the hem and had small fastenings that looked similar enough to the cuffs that he could pass it off as a carefully planned outfit instead of a happy accident. His outer robe had a stiff, high collar and long sleeves. It was tight against his chest but flared out slightly at the hip with a tail-like cut up the back. Harry thought he'd probably wear his black Doc Martins just to piss off all the Purebloods in attendance. He imagined he would be finished getting dressed first and that he'd try to help Ron into the robes his mother had sent him with too many ruffles on the sleeves and collar before they headed to the Great Hall. Harry imaged he'd see everyone pairing off and that Parvati would smile prettily and hold onto his arm; her robes would be a navy-grey, she'd told him last night. He imaged leading her into the Great Hall with a thousand eyes on them and whispers on how well suited they were and how pretty she looked and, _he felt nothing_. It wasn't _her_ he wanted to go to the Yule Ball with, and while it wasn't fair to her for him to lie and smile and tell her he would love to go to the dance with her, it wasn't fair to himself either that all he wanted were pale hands gripping at his hips and dark lips pressed against his neck and – "I'm sorry." Hermione said with another flush to her cheeks. "It was a silly question. Forget I said anything."

"No." Harry said with a sigh. "I think I know what you mean. So yes." Hermione stared at him with wide eyes. "Yes, I do like someone. And yes, because I really shouldn't and I know I shouldn't but I can't seem to stop myself."

"I'm afraid you'll both hate me if I tell you who he is." Hermione whispered in a pained voice as her eyes flickered over to Ron, and then the tears were back to shinning in her eyes again and Harry was back to not knowing what he was supposed to be doing – _someone should really make a book or something about how to deal with girls_. Hermione's shoulders were tense and she sniffled once, closing her textbook and hugging it to her chest. "I don't want you to hate me, Harry." She rubbed at her cold, red nose with her gloved hand but refused to look up at him when he tried to catch her eyes. Harry frowned.

"I can't promise I won't hate you." Harry said honestly. "Because I don't want to break a promise to you, Hermione. But I will promise to listen when you're ready to tell me, and I promise to try and understand. And, I made not like whoever it is you like but, Hermione…I don't think I could ever really hate you. Even if I said the words I doubt I could ever mean them." Tears clung to Hermione's eyelashes, dropping down to her checks when she blinked. "If I guess right would you tell me who it is?" He asked and Hermione pushed at his chest with a laugh.

"No." She laughed.

"Ah, come on." Harry begged, purposely over exaggerating his words to should like a whining child. "Is it a student?" Hermione stared at him for a long time before slowly shaking her head. "Someone older then?" A nod. "An, err, a teacher then." It was more of a statement than a question this time, but Hermione dropped her eyes back to her lap and nodded again away. Harry was rather glad she wasn't watching his face for a reaction right at that moment and he tried to keep his voice even as she spoke again. "A Durmstrang teacher?" Which Harry really and honestly hoped she said no too because both Igor Karkaroff and the two teaching assistants he'd brought with him were unattractive, pug faced gits. Harry was glad she missed his relieved breath when she shook her head in a _no_. "Beauxbatons." Which he already knew the answer to as the entire Beauxbatons travelling party were women and Hermione had already said she liked a _he_ but he still felt the need to ask. She shook her head in another no. Harry swallowed. _It wasn't a gulp. Honest_. "Hogwarts then." He said, and Hermione nodded. Harry didn't know what to say, but he didn't want to give her a reason to worry so he asked her if it was Professor Flitwick that she asked and listened as hiccupped on a laugh. "Alright then." Harry smiled. "When you're ready you can tell me and I'll listen. But until then I'll just have to keep an eye on Flitwick, because some times I swear he looks like he's moments away from kissing the ground you walk on."

"That's probably because I'm the only student that takes him serious as a Professor and finish my essays with correct references and citing's." Hermione sniffed at him, but it still sounded a little weak. "I can't believe you made me cry." She said.

"It's a gift." Harry deadpanned.

"I'm sure it'll get you far in life." Hermione said, rolling her eyes at him even as her lips twitched up into a smile. "But, Harry. Thank you." She said, her teeth biting in the soft flesh of her bottom lip again and Harry nodded. "You know, you can talk me. If you ever want to." She said. "I'm not so shy about mushy stuff like _feelings_ and _heartbreak_ like Ron is, and I wouldn't laugh if you wanted to cry on my shoulder." Hermione watched him with careful eyes. "Parvati isn't the girl you wanted to ask to the Ball, is she?" She asked, and after a moments hesitation Harry shook his head. They didn't say anything else after that because Hermione had suddenly gasped and grasped Harry's wrist in her hands so she could see the face of the black leather wristwatch Sirius and Remus had sent as a joint Yule gift. Remus had also sent him a photo album of pictures he'd found from his days at Hogwarts, and though Harry would never admit it in fear of hurting Sirius' feelings, but it was his favorite gift he'd received this holiday. "It's five o'clock? I hadn't even realized the time. _I'm going to be so late_." Hermione whispered in a frantic voice, standing up from beside Harry and dusting her trousers and coat down with quick, sure movements. Before Harry realized what was happening Hermione had given his cheek a peck good bye and was running off towards the castle with her book hugged against her chest and shouting a goodbye to the four confused boys left staring after her in wonder.

"What." Ron looked the most confused out of all of them. "And you need three hours for what exactly?" He stared after Hermione suspiciously, as if she was lying and he knew it, and he paid for his lapse in concentration when a large snowball thrown by George hit him hard enough in the side of the head that he stumbled back a few steps. He glared at his brother. "Hermione!" He shouted after their friend, grinning when she turned back to look at him from the front steps of the castle. "Who're you going with?" Harry imaged she was laughing as she waved and disappeared up the stone steps into the castle. Harry thought it funny that she wouldn't tell Ron who she was going with when Harry already knew, but he wasn't about to ruin her surprise entrance. Ron huffed. "Whatever. I mean. It's not like we won't find out tonight, is it?"

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Fourth-year.  
December 25__th__ 1993._

In retrospect Harry could admit it was a bad idea. But Harry had managed to open the Yule Ball's first dance without falling over his two left feet and he'd been a diligent date to Parvati and danced until his feet had felt like they were bleeding. He'd even danced with Hermione and Ginny a few times until it was late enough in the evening that he could beg exhaustion and slink of into the back of the room. So when Fred and George had sauntered over with their identical grins that could only mean trouble Harry had thought he deserved a laugh a the very least after the night he'd had, but what he got instead was a half bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey that he shared with Ron and an invitation by Fleur into a drinking game with the other Champions and a few of their friends. Harry could hardly remember what they'd done after his third glass of Bulgaria's Finest Elvin Wine and a couple of shots of some green, French alcohol that had burned on the way down his throat. He loved it. For a little while Harry had forgotten about the outside world and he'd just be a normal, fourteen year old kid for a little while. _He had forgotten what his life was really like, just for a little while. _But now Draco and Blaise were standing opposite from him and Ron in their formal robes of light grey and grey-black and Harry was desperately trying to not act as drunk as Ron looked. Draco's grey robes were askew Harry realized, and the top few buttons of Blaise's shirt were unbuttoned, and Harry couldn't help but feel guilty as he remembered the scene he'd stumbled upon the last time he saw them together. He couldn't help it, he giggled. Harry wasn't even sure why, maybe it was an automatic response to something he couldn't understand, but he bit into the soft flesh of his bottom lip and tried to look innocent when dark eyes turned to look at him. He stumbled slightly, which really made no sense seeing as Harry was using the wall to support himself, but the floor felt strangely unsteady underneath his feet and Harry knew the _stairs_ moved around on their own but the walls were supposed to be stable. "Whadda y'u want, Malf'y?" Ron slurred, his glare falling slightly to the left of where Draco was actually standing and Blaise seemed unable to keep himself from snorting as Ron stumbled over thin air.

"Potter, you'd best teach your Weasel someone manners, or I'll have to give it a detention." Draco said, whose sleek blond hair was curling with what Harry thought might have been sweat (_from dancing?_) and his sharp features and upturned nose were just like his father's. _But_, Harry found himself thinking, _Lucius is rather attractive as well_. "You see Weasel, I, unlike you, have been made prefect. Which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments."

"Yeah." Harry said, _slurred_. "But y'u, unlike him, are a _git_. And y'u, unlike him, are a _pompous_ _git_." Harry giggled, just a little. "So, get 'ut of our hallways and leave us al'ne." Blaise's lips seemed to be twitching up into a smile, but then he raised his hand as if he were covering his mouth to prevent a cough that never came and Draco rolled his eyes.

"So, _Weasel_. Ten points from Gryffindor for the underage consumption of alcohol." Draco said in a steely voice. "And, lets see. Your shirt is untucked, so take another five for that. And your robes are hideous, so that'll be ten for the sheer tenacity I think. _Humm_. You'd best take another five, because I don't like you. And another five, for your hair. I mean, _really_? Who even has hair that red anyway?"

"Fu-ck y'u. _Twat_."

"That'll be another five for lewd language." Draco said. "And also, no. Never would I fuck you. Even if interspecies relations between weasels and wizards weren't frowned upon, I still wouldn't touch you _with a stick_." Draco sneered, amused as Ron started spluttering and cursing at him in a disjointed bunch of words and half-sentences that made no sense. "And another five points, I think. For the improper behavior you've conducted yourself with whilst Hogwarts is hosting a Tournament for foreign delegates." Draco had a familiar smug look on his face, but his eyes were glaring with a nastily intent at Ron and his lips were downturned. But all Harry could focus on was how pretty the flush on his pale cheeks looked and how his robes were tailored tighter against his shoulders and how his lips glistened in the low firelight when he licked them. Harry had a brief moment where he wondered why the hallway was spinning on an uneven axis, but then his attention was being draw to Blaise whose dark eyes seemed to glow in the shadows as they stared back at him. The light cast onto Blaise's skin from the torches supported by bronze sconces along the hallway illuminated him from behind, and it allowed Harry to see how his robes were cut differently to Draco's, with long sleeves and thick cuffs and a stiff collar similar to Harry's. His outer robe was also much longer than most of the formal robes Harry had seen tonight, they came down to Blaise's ankles and had no fastenings but they showed off the silk shirt and the fine trousers he wore and Harry _very much approved_. But it was Blaise's fingers, as it always was, that really drew his attention. _Oh, the dreams he'd had of those fingers. _They weren't even doing anything erotic or unusual, they were just two very normal hands with ten very normal, long fingers that Harry couldn't get enough of. One hand was scratching at the side of his neck, leaving his skin raised and flushed in a way that left Harry staring for a long moment, and his other hand was stuffed into his left pocket. Harry could clearly see the outline of Blaise's fist through the material of his fine trousers, the raise and bumps between his knuckles and the hallow between each curled finger, and he tried not to imagine how big it would feel as it pressed against his–

Harry's gasp must have been much louder then he'd thought because silver-grey eyes and dark, slanted eyes turned to look at him. Blaise arched an eyebrow at him, as if he knew that Harry was having improper thoughts and Harry wondered what he and Draco would do he told them what he'd been thinking. "Ron…hasn't conducted himself impr'per." Harry said instead, because he didn't know what else to say.

Draco rolled his eyes at him, though he looked slightly amused. "Who do you think made the _Potter Stinks_ badges?" _What?_

"Whut?"

"That was an accident!" Ron shouted. "I was just talking t' Dean and Seamus, 'nd we were in the library 'cause of McGonagall's essay. And it was when me and Harri still weren't talking. And. And I, _we_, we were talking about Harri and how it _stinks_ that he always gets the g'd stuff. He's all, _fam'us_. And every'ne likes him. And he got the map, and the cloak, and the Potter name, and…and just _stuff_. Parkinson was the one who said we sh'uld shut up and do s'mething about it. But–"

"Go back to your common room, Weasley. You've embarrassed yourself enough for one night, I think." Draco cut in with a bored voice. "Potter. You just. You just _stay there_."

"Hey, n-nuu, wait'a minute." Ron blinked slowly, staring up at Draco from where he was standing hunched against the wall and he squinted as if Draco was blurry and he couldn't make him out properly. He looked like that old man from Little Whinging that always sat in the park on Sunday mornings trying to read the paper without his glasses, Harry thought it was quite a funny sight actually, and he giggled again because of it. _He'd forget about the badges until he could think straight. But, how could Ron do that to him? Even if they weren't talking at the time, how could he do that?_ Harry sighed sadly, but no one seemed to hear him. "–_mmmh_, err…" Ron was back to making no sense again. He was swaying much worse than Harry was and Harry wondered if the floor was moving and spinning underneath Ron's feet like it was under Harry's, he thought it very unfair that Draco and Blaise remained unaffected and he wondered what their secret was. _Probably not getting into drinking games with a bunch of seventeen year olds and French alcohol_, Harry thought with a snort. "I'ma not gonna g' without, Harri!"

"Weasley." Blaise said, voice dark and low. "Leave now or Draco will assign you detention with Snape for a month." Ron's blue eyes widened and he turned to Harry as if he didn't know what too do. Harry tried to focus on Ron's face, on his expression or on the words that his lips seemed to saying, but his attention was more focused on Ron's eyes that looked red and sore as he stared at Harry with pupils that were dilated into small pinpricks of black surrounded by bright blue. Harry wondered if Ron's eyes were dilated from the alcohol or from fear of a month's detention with _Professor_ Snape. "Weasley." Blaise repeated in the same, dark voice and Harry was horrified by his body's reaction as it shivered in want.

"_Harri_?" Harry smiled in what he was sure was a ridiculous grin. It felt too wide and his face _hurt_ as he smiled, but it seemed to be enough of an answer for Ron who muttered a _fine_ that sounded more like _funl_ before stumbling off down the hallway. Harry tried not to laugh at him as he watched Ron staggered off in the wrong direction of the Gryffindor common room, barging into Draco as he walked past him and walking into the wall twice. He wondered if he should tell him that he needed to take the other set of stairs across the hallway but then a voice, _who do you think made the Potter Stinks badges?_, sounded in his mind and Harry decided that Ron could make his own way back. Until he realized that he was now left alone with two Slytherins in an empty hallway.

"That wasn't very nice." Harry said.

Blaise sighed, though he did look similarly amused to Draco, even as he pinched at the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "What were you even doing in this part of castle?"

"Fleur invited us t' the party."

"What party?"

"The Champi'ns after party." Harry said with a roll of his eyes, because the answer was obvious. _Of course it was_. Draco gave him an unimpressed look. "An after party for _The Champ'ions_." Harry's smile has turned into an embarrassed grin as he remembers how quickly he and Ron had forfeited from the drinking game, though Fleur had seemed to expect it and no one had really been surprised that they were the first one's out, but it was still embarrassing. _He would have to increase his tolerance somehow_. Harry remembers how he had spent the rest of the game laughing at the drunken attics of the other players and how Fleur had scratched her fingers through his hair when it wasn't her turn. He remembers how nice it was to feel like a normal teenager for a change.

"So weasel's a champion now?" Draco interrupts with a frustrated shake of the head.

"Well." Harry shrugs, _because_. "He drinks like a champi'n, s' why not?" He asked while scratching at the itchy skin of his neck and fumbling his fingers over the button of his shirt so it wasn't so tight against his throat. His robes were starting to become uncomfortable after having worn them for most of the evening and all Harry wanted to do was get up to his dorm and take them off so he could collapse onto his bed and fall asleep. But when he looked up he finds both Draco and Blaise staring at him, Draco's smirking like he can't help it and Blaise is smiling with an embarrassed blush darkening his cheeks but he can't seem to meet Harry's eyes for some reason. Harry finds himself thinking they both look charming and so completely disarming with these new, more welcoming expressions on their faces. But it's Blaise's smile that really gets him because Harry realizes that he kind of really likes it, and he finds himself thinking that it looks _good_ on Blaise. When Blaise smiles Harry finds that he can't breathe, and it occurs to him that Blaise was just _made for smiling_. He wasn't supposed to be this sullen, apathetic boy he showed to the rest of the world. He wasn't supposed to hide in the background and on the fringes of society. No. He was made to smile. And Harry finds himself feeling possessive over that smile in ways he doesn't really understand, but Harry knows he doesn't want anyone else to see it. _Because it's his smile. Blaise is smiling because of Harry and he did that, him. Harry. It's Harry's smile; no one else can have it_. Only Harry and only Draco should ever get to see Blaise looking this handsome, only Harry and only Draco should only ever know that Blaise was made to smile.

Draco smirked a little wider at him, as if he knew what Harry was thinking and Harry frowned back at him. Because mindreading was impossible, _right_? "Were you…" Blaise hesitates, and when his tongue flicks out to lick at his lips Harry finds he can't look away. "Were you drinking with a bunch of seventeen years olds?"

"Seventeen year olds and a half-Veela." Harry corrected. "But Fleur likes me because her thrall doesn't work on me. But she won't tell me _why_ and Hermione just keeps telling me t' research it in the library. But I can't find any books on Veela and _Fleur won't tell me_." Draco it seemed, found that especially very funny but Harry only pouted at the two of them. "T'is not funny."

"Actually, it's very funny." Blaise said, looking at him in that strange way he sometimes did and it took Harry a moment to realize that Draco was standing much closer than he was before too. "If you're good, maybe we'll tell you." Blaise whispered with another smile that made Harry's heart beat a little faster. Harry couldn't think of anything to reply with, or he could but he didn't want to embarrass himself by saying it out loud so he bit into the soft flesh of his bottom lip and tried to look innocent when dark, slanted eyes and silver-grey eyes continued to look at him. "What _are_ we going to do with you?" Blaise whispered, and Harry couldn't help it, he giggled. Harry wasn't even sure why, maybe it really was an automatic response to something he couldn't understand, and he raised his hand to cover his lips when they pulled up into a smile that felt too wide on his dry lips. But even as he tried to hide his smile he found himself thinking _anything_. And even though he knew he shouldn't, Harry found himself wanting so desperately to say it out loud. _Anything. Anything. Anything. Anything_. But he didn't.

–

_The Black Lake; Harry James Potter; Fourth-year.  
February 24__th__ 1994._

When Harry breaks the surface of the Black Lake and breathes in his first breath of fresh air since he took the Gillyweed at the beginning of the task he tries to convince himself that he's not upset. He's _not_. It's just. Maybe he's a little upset. Maybe he's a little disappointed that The Triwizard Tournament isn't actually dictated by otherworldly magical forces but is instead decided by the panel of judges that had been chosen to regulate this ridiculous tournament. (Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Ludo Bagman, the Head of the British Department of Magical Games and Sports. Bartemius Crouch Senior, former Head of the British Department of Magical Law Enforcement who'd been demoted to the Head of the Department of British International Magical Cooperation. And Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute.) And they'd done a top job so far, first _dragons_ and now an underwater treasure hunt for a _person_ they would miss the most. _Were they insane?_

And maybe he was a little upset that this group of witches and wizards presumed to know what they, The Champions, would sorely miss. Karkaroff couldn't have been a very good Headmaster if he didn't know that Viktor Krum had a younger brother, Henrick who thirteen, who he would miss far more than a girl he hardly knew that he'd taken to one dance months ago. Madam Maxime had certainty struck lucky with picking Gabrielle as Fleur's hostage, but Dumbledore was most definitely lacking in what he thought both of his Champions who sorely miss. Cedric had admitted to Harry on the night of the Yule Ball that he wouldn't know what to do without his mother there to guide him, and Harry had seen Cedric's frantic searching of the crowd until he had seen her smiling face cheering besides his father. And Harry, Harry wasn't sure who he'd miss the most but he hadn't been surprised to find Ron hanging at the bottom of the Black Lake. It felt natural, like that was what was supposed to happen, but Harry thought that was probably because that was what people expected and not because that was what he wanted. If Professor Dumbledore knew Harry as well as he liked to profess he did then surely he must have known that Harry and Ron's relationship is still rocky after their fall out earlier in the year, or did Dumbledore think that by having him _save_ Ron their friendship would be reaffirmed and everything would be _set right_? _For the Greater Good_. What _bullshit_. But it sounded like something their manipulative Headmaster would do. Harry knows that everyone thinks of him as a blind follow of the Light, but he really isn't as stupid as he lets everyone think. Besides, if the judges really wanted to take some one he'd miss they should have gone for…_oh_.

"You did it, Harry!" Ron shouted, slashing water in his face and making and general mess and noise. "Fucking hell, _you did it!_" Harry looked around until he found the deck where the Champions and their hostages were all gathered and he swam towards it with a half-heart grin shot towards Ron. He lifted the small girl he was carrying up into Fleur's arms, whispers of _Gabrielle_ and _ma doux petite soeur _and _je t'aime_ and _jamais nouveau, je ne te quitterai jamais derrière nouveau_ passing between them, before Harry pulled himself up out of the water with Ron follow a moment later. "Bloody hell." Ron said a while later, after Hermione joined them with a peck to both of their cheeks and Madam Pomfrey had wrapped thick, woolen towels around their shoulders. "I can't believe I'm what you'd miss the most." And he says it in such an awed voice that Harry hasn't got the heart to tell him that Dumbledore was wrong. That Ron was the obvious choice. That Harry couldn't have _two_ hostages that he would sorely miss.

–

_Little Hangleton Graveyard; Harry James Potter; Fourth-year.  
June 24__th__ 1994._

The cauldron was simmering, sending angry diamond-sparks in all directions that were so blindingly bright that it turned all else into a velvety blackness. Harry couldn't look away, but nothing else happened and the cauldron simmered away with a quite pop and sizzle of hot air. _Let it have drowned. Let it have drowned_. And then suddenly the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished and surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything else from Harry's vision. He could no longer see Wormtail's huddle form hugging the stump of his arm or Cedric's cold corpse or anything else but the foul smelling vapor hanging on the air. _Please let it have gone wrong. Let it have drowned. Let it have drowned. Please. Please let it be dead_. But then, through the mist in front of him Harry saw the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron. An icy surge of terror shot straight to his heart. "Robe me." A high, cold voice said from behind the steam and Wormtail, still sobbing and moaning and still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground. He managed to stumble to his feet quickly enough and then he was reaching up, pulling the robes one-handed over his master's head before kneeing on the dead grass with his head bowed and his eyes adverted. The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring intently at Harry…and, Harry couldn't seem to look away from the face that had haunted his nightmares for years. The paleness of the man's skin was whiter than a skull, with wide cat-like eyes that glowed livid and dangerous as they stared down at him. His nose was flat, snake-like nostrils instead of a human nose, and his head was bald without even a shadow of hair. Harry swallowed, his bleeding cut on right arm that was more of a brand than any Death Eater's mark throbbed and ached as the man took a step closer towards him.

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

–

_Hogwarts; The Sorting Hat; Fifth-year.  
September 1__st__ 1994._

On a four-legged stool seated in front the new arrival of first years, a pointed wizards hat sat silently. The hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. It was magical in a way few things left were, _pure_, but no rabbits would pulled from its folds like the muggleborn children seemed to so often think. No. They stared at it, their small eyes round and scared and the hat waited for a few moments, savoring in the complete silence of a hall full of anxious teenagers. Then the hat twitched. There was a gasp, and a few laughs from the older students, and then a rip near to the brim of the hat opened wide like a mouth – and the hat began to sing:

_In times of old, when I was new,  
__And Hogwarts barely started,  
__The founders of our noble school  
__Thought never to be parted.  
__United by a common goal,  
__They had the selfsame yearning  
__To make the world's best magic school  
__And pass along their learning.  
__"Together we will build and teach"  
__The four good friends decided.  
__And never did they dream that they  
__Might some day be divided.  
__For were there such friends anywhere  
__As Slytherin and Gryffindor?  
__Unless it was the second pair  
__Unless it was the second pair  
__Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw,  
__So how could it have gone so wrong?  
__How could such friendships fail?  
__Why, I was there, so I can tell  
__The whole sad, sorry tale.  
__Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those  
__Whose ancestry's purest."  
__Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose  
__Intelligence is surest"  
__Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those  
__With brave deeds to their name."  
__Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot  
__And treat them just the same."  
__These differences caused little strife  
__When first they came to light.  
__For each of the four founders had  
__A house in which they might  
__Take only those they wanted, so,  
__For instance, Slytherin  
__Took only pure-blood wizards  
__Of great cunning just like him.  
__And only those of sharpest mind  
__Were taught by Ravenclaw  
__While the bravest and the boldest  
__Went to daring Gryffindor.  
__Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest  
__And taught them all she knew,  
__Thus, the Houses and their founders  
__Maintained friendships firm and true._

_So Hogwarts worked in harmony  
__For several happy years,  
__But then discord crept among us  
__Feeding on our faults and fears._

_The Houses that, like pillars four  
__Had once held up our school  
__Now turned upon each other and  
__Divided, sought to rule.  
__And for a while it seemed the school  
__Must meet an early end.  
__What with dueling and with fighting  
__And the clash of friend on friend.  
__And at last there came a morning  
__When old Slytherin departed  
__And though the fighting then died out  
__he left us quite downhearted.  
__And never since the founders four  
__Were whittled down to three  
__Have the Houses been united  
__As they once were meant to be._

_And now the Sorting Hat is here  
__And you all know the score:  
__I sort you into Houses  
__Because that is what I'm for.  
__But this year I'll go further,  
__Listen closely to my song:  
__Though condemned I am to split you  
__Still I worry that it's wrong,  
__Though I must fulfill my duty  
__And must quarter every year  
__Still I wonder whether sorting  
__May not bring the end I fear.  
__Oh, know the perils, read the signs,  
__The warning history shows,  
__For our Hogwarts is in danger  
__From external, deadly foes  
__And we must unite inside her  
__Or we'll crumble from within  
__I have told you, I have warned you...  
__Let the Sorting now begin._

There was a moment of silence, and then the students stood to their feet as the Great Hall was filled with applause.

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Fifth-year.  
September 1__st__ 1994._

Dinner in the Great Hall that night was not a pleasant experience for Harry. The wizarding newspapers had spent the entire summer printing stories of Harry's apparent problem as a perpetual lair and Dumbledore's ungraceful decent into old age, and rumors and belief in Harry's bad character had travelled exceptionally fast even by Hogwarts' standards. Harry sighed. He could hear whispers all around him as he sat eating between Ron and Hermione, but the funny thing was that none of the whisperers seemed to mind him overhearing what they were saying about him. On the contrary, it was as though they were hoping he would get angry and start shouting at them, so that they could hear his story first-hand.

"_He says he saw Cedric Diggory murdered…_"

"_He reckons he dueled with You-Know-Who…_"

"_Come off it…_"

"_Who does he think he's kidding?_"

"_Pur-lease…_"

"What I don't get." Harry said through clenched teeth as he was forced to lay his knife and fork down on the table, his hands now shaking too much to hold them steady. "Is why they all believed the story two months when Dumbledore told them but now they're more than willing to pretend they haven't got a clue what happened."

"The thing is, Harry, I'm not sure they did believe it." Hermione whispered with a grim look, casting a look across the hall and frowning when she found the eyes of most of the hall staring back at them. "Oh, lets just get down out of here." She said as she slammed her own knife and fork down on the table, Ron looked longingly at his half-finished apple pie but followed suit and stood when Harry and Hermione did. Conversations died and students and staff alike stared at them all the way out of the Great Hall before the Welcoming Feast was even half way over, but no one tried to stop them.

"What did you mean?" Harry asked Hermione after they'd reached the first-floor landing. "When you said you're not sure they believed Dumbledore, what did you mean?"

"Look. Harry. You don't understand what it was like after it happened." Hermione said quietly, her arms hugging herself as they walked and her eyes wide and scared looking when she looked back over at him. "You arrived back in the middle of the lawn, covered in blood and clutching Cedric's dead body…none of us saw what happened in the maze…but you looked so scared and frantic and everyone was screaming or crying and…we just had Dumbledore's word for it that You-Know-Who had returned. We just had Dumbledore's word for it that he fought you. We just had Dumbledore's word for it that he killed Cedric."

"_But it's all the truth._"

"I'm not saying it isn't, Harry. I _know_ it's the truth. And I can't imagine how hard all of this is for you but will you please stop biting my head of?" Hermione asked wearily, and Ron snorted under his breathe on Harry's other side. He glared at them both. "It's just that, before the truth could sink in everyone went home for the summer were they spent two months reading about how you're a nutcase and Dumbledore's going senile." She rubbed her temples with two fingers and sighed. "They're just confused." Harry sighed. Fifth-year was turning out to be a dreadful year, and that was without the consideration of the ever-pressing Ordinary Wizarding Level exams looming over them. Then again, fourth year had been dreadful, and so had his third and second year. So had his first year to be fair, there was no reason why this year should be any different and true to form it wasn't. The wizarding world wasn't all it made itself up to be and Harry was slowly starting to become disillusioned to the magic of it all.

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Fifth-year.  
September 29__th__ 1994._

It was during the beginning of their fifth year when Harry thinks he might have discovered who Hermione's mysterious crush is. If he's right then he can understand why she was so worried about his reaction. He kind of hopes he _isn't_ right.

"Today, we will be brewing a potion that is often examined in both the theory and practical examinations of the Ordinary Wizarding Level exams. _The Draught of Peace_." Black, beady eyes scan across the dark potions lab and thin lips curl as Professor Snape's gaze rests on Harry. Harry's glares back at the sour man, even with the risk of loosing House Points it's worth it to see the narrowing of those black, beady eyes that he really, really hates. "The Draught of Peace is a potion which relieves anxiety and agitation." Professor Snape drawled, narrowed eyes still watching Harry. "You are to be warned to use a _light_ hand whilst stirring. This is a _delicate_ and _complex_ potion, there will be no talking during this lesson and you will pay _full attention_." To the left of Harry of Ron's desk Hermione sat with Neville, and as Professor Snape spoke she sat up a little straighter in her seat, as if Professor Snape had challenged her intelligence by calling the potion _delicate_ _and_ _complex_ when in actual fact it was just more likely to make Hermione want to perform to the very best of her vast abilities. Harry thought her cheeks her cheeks looked a little flushed, but he supposed the potions room was very stuffy and naturally hot and even Ron was pulling at his shirt collar so Harry thought nothing of it. "If the ingredients aren't powdered to the right consistency, or if the syrup is too thick, then you will cause the drinker to fall into a comatose sleep. You will be testing your potions on yourself at the end of the three weeks study we will be doing, so you best pay attention." Professor Snape's black, beady eyes scanned the classroom but seemed to linger a little longer on the Gryffindor side of the room. "The ingredients and the method–" Professor Snape flicked his wand at the blackboard he was standing in front of, and they all watched as small, italicized handwriting that Harry still had difficultly deciphering began writing itself across the board in perfect lines. "–are written on the board. You will find everything you need–" Professor Snape flicked his wand once more, with more of a flourish this time that had Harry arching his eyebrow and wondering why the usually sour Potions Master was acting so goddamned _cheerful_ (for Snape anyway). The door of the store cupboard that Professor Snape usually kept locked sprung open silently and Harry thought he heard Hermione sighing, but when he looked over at her she was listening to the lecture with her usual rapt attention. "–in the store cupboard. You have an hour and a half. _Start_."

As Harry read over the instructions he realized that he'd been right earlier to think that Professor Snape couldn't have set them a more difficult potion for their first graded piece. _The ingredients for The Draught of Peace are as listed; __powdered moonstone, syrup of hellebore, powdered porcupine quills, and powdered unicorn horn. The potion should be a turquoise-blue when finished and simmered before being drunk. __Ingredients must be added in the exact order and amounts specified. The potion must be stirred seven times in alternating clockwise and then anti-clockwise motions at twenty minute intervals through the brewing process. _Harry groaned. _Before the addition of the final ingredient, hellebore, the temperature of the flames must be lowered and the potion allowed to simmer for seven minutes_. Harry could already see what a disaster this potion was going to be.

The class worked silently for next forty-five minutes until Professor Snape started giving them more instructions as he walked, _stalked_, down the isles between the desks with his arms clasped behind his back. He looked paler than usual today, with his high coloured cloak that flapped around his ankles and when he spoke it was in his usual drawl; _and he wondered why the first years thought he was a vampire?_ "You should be in the finial stages of the potion by now. If you have brew The Draught of Peace correctly the potion will emit a light, silver vapor." Professor Snape said quietly, as though he wanted the silence of his classroom to remain undisturbed. His voice may have been quiet, but the sound easily travelled through the classroom over the soft noise of knifes cutting into wooden desks and pestle and mortar's grinding ingredients into fine powders. "If brewed correctly the potion should be clear, turquoise-blue by the final stage." Professor Snape said as he leaned over Draco Malfoy's potion to examine the colour. He breathed in the fumes in a short inhale and his face seemed to relax from its familiar tight expression. Professor Snape nodded at the potion and awarded Slytherin five points for a well-brewed potion before walking on down the isles. "The possible characteristics of a failed batch are many, and you will be evaluated on an individual basis." Professor Snape said. "If you have green sparks spitting from your potion, or dark grey steam and a sulfurous odor, you can safely assume that you have failed the assignment." Professor Snape walked passed Crabbe and Goyle's shared desk, and there was no way he could have miss how Vincent Crabbe had attempt to ladle some of his potion up to take a closer look at it but instead pulled out a melted utensil, but he didn't mention it or deduct any points. _Of course he didn't_. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but only just. "If your potion has a cement-like consistency, or shows sign of dangerous instability, then you can also safely assume that you have failed the assignment." Professor Snape said. "If you believe your potion is showing signs of dangerous instability I suggest you take the heat off and immediately and start cleaning your work station. Dangerous instability it what causes potions to exploded and it has been known to set one's robes alight in the past." He said. "You have ten minutes remaining."

Harry turned back to his own potion and frowned. It was most definitely _not_ emitting a light, silver vapor. But nor was it spitting green flames or looking like it might explode, so while he was worried he wasn't as worried as Ron looked. Ron, who was sitting on his right, was glaring down into his cauldron that was spitting the bright green sparks that Professor Snape had spoken about was now trying to extinguish sparks that seemed to set alight whenever they managed to catch onto the material of his robs. Harry chuckled, ducking his head when Ron turned to glare at him and he pretended to be looking across the potions lab to spy on their classmate's progress. On the desk behind Harry and Ron's, Seamus was feverishly prodding the green flames beneath his cauldron with the tip of his wand. His eyes would flicker around the room to check where Professor Snape was and he was whispering angrily under his breath as he tried to save the dying flickers of his original fire. Dean's potion beside him, in contrast, showed all the signs of _dangerous instability that will cause it to explode and have been know to set one's robes alight_. Harry made sure keep an eye on Dean's potion in an effort to not cause a Neville-style accident that caused a chain reaction of exploding potions across the class.

Across the classroom Pansy Parkinson's potion was overflowing in a dark yellow-gray colour that had a lumpy consistency that wasn't as bad as Professor Snape had explained it could be. Next to her, Daphne Greengrass' potion was the turquoise-blue it was supposed to be but there was no silvery vapor emitting from it and she was frowning down at in confusion. Next to them sat Theodor Nott and Blaise Zabini. Theodor's potion was the same turquoise-blue colour as Daphne's but as he leaned forwards to see if it was showing any other signs of being complete a rush of steam bubbled upwards from his cauldron. Blaise said nothing about his partners distress and was instead ladling some of his potion into a small glass vial; it was the same turquoise-blue as quite a few other students' potions but it had a more off-white vapor circling the surface of his potion that wasn't quite perfect but pretty fucking close. Dark eyes caught his from across the room a shot him a look, an arched eyebrow and an almost-smirk. Draco seemed to have seen their shared look for he smiled and rolled his eyes, turning away to hide his expression from the rest of the class. But of course, the only one's who potion looked to be perfect other than Draco was Hermione's. Harry snorted under his breath. His own potion was a turquoise-green colour, which was issuing copious amounts of dark grey steam that was beginning to make him feel lightheaded, but Hermione's was the perfect turquoise-blue with the soft shimmering glow that the instructions spoke about and it emitted a sweet smelling light, silver vapor. Well. At least his potion wasn't the worse in the room. But it was hardly the best either.

"_How the hell is yours so normal-looking?_" Ron whispered as he leaned over Harry's potion.

"I wouldn't do that, mate." Harry said putting a hand on Ron's chest from leaning close enough to the cauldron to breath in the fumes. "Wouldn't want you fall into a coma." Harry said, and Ron laughed quietly under his voice.

"Maybe we should leave it in the Slytherin common room then." Ron said, waggling his eyebrows. Harry rolled his eyes but was saved from having to reply by Professor Snape walking past their desk. He gave Ron's potion a wide berth and deducting five points for his _failure to_ _read and follow through on the given instructions_ and sneered at Harry's potion but surprising he refrained himself from saying anything insulting, though he did deduct another five points without giving a reason as to why. Harry watched through narrowed eyes as Professor Snape paused by Hermione and Neville's desk, he ignored Neville's murky green potion but paused to look down his crooked nose at Hermione potion. Hermione didn't seem to notice he was standing over her. She was looking between her open potions textbook and examining her potion fanatically, and the fumes from her potion had gotten into her hair and made her wild curls even more unmanageable than usual. A bright, pink flush stained her cheeks. Harry watched as Hermione continued to not notice their Professor until he place a hesitant hand on her shoulder. He watched as she froze, her body still and her face shocked, before staring up at Professor Snape with wide eyes. Professor Snape waited for her to get over her shock before nodding slowly, just once, and walking away without comment or criticism or points deducted from their house.

Harry didn't understand it, until he did. He thought maybe Professor Snape couldn't find anything in Hermione's potion to criticize so had walked away, but that didn't explain the hand on her shoulder or the silent look of – _understanding?_ – that passed between them. It wasn't until he saw Hermione's expression, flushed but happy, that he realized what was going on. The fact she looked happy, actually happy in a real way that had been missing for so long now, was his biggest clue. But there was also a strange look in her eyes as she watched Professor Snape walk back down the length of the potions lab that Harry recognized. _Longing_. Harry looked between Hermione and Professor Snape and tried to resist the urge to cry or do something else as equally embarrassing; if Hermione was it was their potions professor that she like then Harry supposed he would have to support her. But still, _shite_.

_Hermione Granger was in love with Severus Snape._

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Fifth-year.  
December 2__nd__ 1994._

The snow had come early this year, and by the time December rolled in a thick layer of snow already covered Hogwarts grounds. The days were becoming colder but shorter and there was a familiar eastern wind that foretold a coming storm. "Maybe he'll be there today." Ron whispered to him as Hermione nudged Harry's shoulder with hers. They were walking down the sloping front lawns toward Hagrid's cabin for their Care of Magical Creatures lesson, and Harry could feel the first few drops of the rains hitting his face as they headed towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He smiled at Ron, but they both knew it wouldn't be Hagrid who'd greet them for the class. Professor Grubbly-Plank had been substituting Hagrid's lessons since the start of the school year, and as they approached Hagrid's hut Harry was disappointed but not surprised to find Professor Grubbly-Plank waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, her arms crossed over her chest and her usual stern expression unchanged. Beside her stood a long trestle-table laden with twigs and dried leaves and what Harry thought looked like _brown rice_. It wasn't until they got closer that Harry noticed the brown rice was moving and he had to repress a shiver; while Professor Grubbly-Plank certainly showed them a more diverse menagerie of creatures than Hagrid had ever dared to after the incident with Buckbeak, Harry still missed Hagrid. Hagrid would have never shown them _rice_.

The quiet sound of chuckling drew Harry's attention and he turned to find Blaise Zabini trying and failing not to smile as Draco Malfoy whispered quite words to him. There was something intimate about them, the way their cheeks brushed as they spoke, the way Draco's lips were pressed against the curve of Blaise's ear, the way Blaise's hand gripped Draco's hip in a hold so tight his nails had turned white. There was something else about them though that Harry couldn't understand, something mischievous in their eyes as they whispered amongst themselves and something dark lingering in the way their mouths curved and their eyes narrowed. Harry didn't doubt they knew he was watching them. They always seemed to know everything about him that meant anything of importance and they had just the right words ready for him if he ever questioned their motives; Harry didn't know what game the three of them were playing, most of the time he wasn't even aware of the rules, but he knew he couldn't back out of it now. _Not after four years_. _Not ever_. Harry didn't know what to make of it, of Blaise or Draco or _his life_, and he didn't know where his thoughts were trying to take him either so he decided to ignore everything else for now and turned to Professor Grubbly-Plank as she called attention to the front of the class.

"Is everyone here?" Professor Grubbly-Plank barked her question like a muggle drill sergeant, or so Harry had often thought. She reminded him a little of Vernon's sister Marge, with her dark eyes that scanned the faces of the assembled Gryffindors and Slytherins with no change in her stern expression. Everyone seemed to have arrived, though a few people made a fuss by calling out for their friends and acting like the class clown but Professor Grubbly-Plank didn't look the least impressed as she called for silence. When silence came she nodded once, sharply, and began with her lesson. "Good. Let's crack on then. Who can tell me what these creatures here are called?" Professor Grubbly-Plank indicated the heap of twigs in front of her. Most of the class shifted and turned to their friends with an_ is she mental_ look before turning back to look at the moving twigs and _brown rice_ with confusion clear on all of their faces. Though of course Hermione's hand shot up into the air almost instantly. Behind her Draco was still speaking to Blaise in his quiet whispers that had their cheeks pressed together but his eyes had flickered over to Hermione and Harry watched as Draco's lips curled in disgust. He wondered for a moment if the look he saw Draco and Blaise share meant trouble for Hermione, but then Draco was looking at him from over Blaise's shoulder with a manic sort of look in his silver-grey eyes. Harry's attention was distracted by the sound of Pansy Parkinson's loud, frightened shriek and Harry winced at the unnaturally high-pitched sound of it. _I wondered if she's part-banshee; because that would certainty explain a lot_. A few of their classmates chuckled at her before they noticed what had scared her. The twigs that Harry had taken to calling brown rice in his head had leapt into the air and revealed themselves to be what looked like tiny pixyish creatures. They were each made of what looked liked rotten tree bark, with knobby brown arms and legs with three twig-like fingers on each hand that looked to be dangerously sharp. They had funny little flat, bark-like faces in with a pair of beetle-brown eyes that glittered out at them. They had green-gray leaf like wings with delicate and complex veins and all in all they were rather strange and odd-looking creatures.

"_Oh!_" Parvati and Lavender cooed at the creatures, as they did whenever they saw anything remotely _cute_, but the sound did nothing but thoroughly irritate Harry and as he looked over at the creatures he thought to himself that they were rather ugly actually. Ron however looked particularly interested in what they were doing, which was nothing new as they bent their heads together and giggled but Harry left him to it because he couldn't be bothered to ask him which on had drawn his attention.

"Kindly keep your voices down, girls." Professor Grubbly-Plank said sharply, unimpressed, and everyone seemed to instantly lesson to her. Harry snorted. Admittedly the creatures Hagrid showed them weren't as impressive Professor Grubbly-Plank choices. The Flobberworms had been a little dull but the Salamanders and Hippogriffs had been interesting enough, and the Blast-Ended Skrewts had been perhaps a little _too_ interesting, but everyone was acting as if these strange new creatures were the be-end and end-all of their Care for Magical Creatures lessons. Harry rolled his eyes. "Ms. Granger." Professor Grubbly-Plank said while scattering a handful of what looked to the same wriggling brown rice that Harry now suspected were insects of some sort among the strange, stick-creatures. A few of girls squealed as the strange creatures immediately began to fight amongst themselves to get to the food in a blur of movement and fluttering wings that Harry's eyes couldn't follow. The creatures fell upon the new offerings of food and greedily began consuming as much as they could. "Yes, can you tell me the names of these creatures?"

"They're Bowtruckles." Hermione answered instantly. "But they're also called tree-guardians, because they usually live in wand-tress."

"Correct, Ms. Granger. Five points to Gryffindor." Professor Grubbly-Plank nodded once to Hermione and she blushed while the Gryffindor's clapped and wopped in over exaggerated excitement around her. Harry feigned hurt when she hit his arm with her copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ but Ron just laughed at them when Hermione rounded on him.

"Bowtruckles are immensely difficult creatures to spot in their natural habit. Can anyone tell me why?" Professor Grubbly-Plank asked, ignoring the boisterous behavior of the Gryffindor's with only a warning glare. "Yes, Mr. Nott."

"They're difficult to spot because of their size, they're smaller than a young child's hand." Theodor Nott said, pointing to the still feeding creatures as if to prove his point. He was right of course. "They're prominent food source are insects that inhabit the tress they dwell in, and there appearance serves as a camouflage in their natural habitat which is also why they're so hard to find." Professor Grubbly-Plank award him ten points for Slytherin and then asked for an example of which insects they liked, which Hermione answered with woodlice with another five awarded points for Gryffindor. Harry zoned out soon afterwards.

"Bowtruckles can be found in western England, southern Germany, and certain Scandinavian forests." Professor Grubbly-Plank said in a bland monotone so unlike Hagrid enthused voice when he spoke about the creatures he loved so much. "A Bowtruckles serves as a tree guardian for its home tree, which is normal a tree whose wood it used to make wands. Such as Wiggentree or Ash tree." She went on to say pointing to the Ash tree a little ways off from where they were standing, and many of the class were now copying her lecture down in the quick shorthand most students at Hogwarts adapted to if they wanted any hope of keeping up. The professors of Hogwarts that weren't prone to slowing down or repeating themselves even for the first years and by their fifth year Harry and his classmate were quite proficient at fast paced note-taking. "Their twig-like fingers are sharp and well adapted for digging out woodlice from trees, but they can also be used as a weapon against a foe when aimed at the eyes. Wizards who have provoked a Bowtruckle have been know to have their eyes gouged at and an attack by a this creature has been known to result with death." A few students shifted uncomfortably at that piece of information and Harry grinned when he noticed Parvati and Lavender edging away from the creatures they'd thought cute only a few minutes before. "However. Bowtruckles are generally peaceful by nature. It will become violent if anything were to threaten the tree it guards or the family it lives in. The family unit of a Bowtruckle is called a hoard, and the numbers are usually somewhere between twenty and fifty." Professor Grubbly-Plank said. "To take leaves or wood from a Bowtruckle's tree, one would have to give an offering of woodlice or fairy eggs as a distraction. As you can imagine, you would not want to be on the wrong end of those fingers." Professor Grubbly-Plank looked around the gathered group of Gryffindor and Slytherins. _And honestly, whoever made the timetables for each year should really learn that putting Gryffindor and Slytherins together only ever increased the tension and rivalry between their houses_. Professor Grubbly-Plank nodded when she seemed pleased with what she saw from their expressions. "If you would all like to gather close, you may take a few woodlice from the red buckets and carefully entice a Bowtruckle out to join you. There are enough here for one between three of you. You are to take a Bowtruckle and study them closely. I want detailed sketches and labeling and three paragraphs of written observation by the end of the lesson. Bowtruckles have been known to come up in the theory paper of the Ordinary Wizarding Level exams, so I suggest you be as _thorough_ as possible. You may start."

The class seemed to surge forward as one after a moment of hesitation; they circled the trestle-table and started to divide the woodlice from the red buckets between themselves, but Harry deliberately stayed behind and circled around the back of the rest of the students so that he ended up right next to Professor Grubbly-Plank. Harry made sure to smile warmly and hoped Professor Grubbly-Plank would answer him this time when he said; "excuse me, Professor, but could you tell me where Hagrid is?" Everyone else was busying themselves in arguing over which Bowtruckle they wanted and therefore there was very little attention being paid to him or Professor Grubbly-Plank as they hovered at the back the class.

"Never you mind, Potter." Professor Grubbly-Plank answered rather coldly in Harry opinion but he supposed she must have been getting pretty annoyed with his constant questions, and her attitude was as stiff as all of the other times he'd questioned her when Hagrid had failed to turn up to teach their class. He sighed with a shrug when he was shooed away to join the rest of his classmates, but when he turned it was to find Draco Malfoy staring at him again. That was starting to get old quickly, and he's seen Hermione giving him strange looks over the past few weeks as she watched his interactions with Draco and Blaise. Harry almost groaned when he saw that familiar smirk spread across Draco's face. _Blaise never gave him this sort of trouble_. The problem was however that while Harry had shared small, private moments in which he was sure he was witnessing the real sides of the two Slytherin boys, fundamentally they were still rivals that lived to annoy and push one another to their breaking points. And today, Harry really didn't want to play this game of theirs that didn't seem to ever have an ending in sight. But then Draco was leaning across Harry as he reached the trestle-table to seize the largest Bowtruckle with a deep chuckle that went straight to Harry's…_nevermind_, Harry refused to get hard in a middle of a lesson with no way to cover himself up.

"Maybe." Draco said in an undertone, speaking so softly that only Harry could hear him. "The stupid great oaf's got himself badly injured."

"Maybe you will if you don't _shut up_." Harry growled out from the corner of his mouth, trying desperately to keep his voice low so as to not attract Professor Grubbly-Plank's attention. He cleaned his teeth and fixed his eyes at the front of the class where Professor Grubbly-Plank had began lecturing once again, Ron and Hermione had already managed to entice a Bowtruckles between the of them and Hermione looked to be making a sketch of the creature that was crouched on Ron's palmed eating small offering of woodlice Ron was holding. Harry turned to the red buckets used his wand and a scoop to collect some more insects, planning to make his way over to Ron and Hermione but of course Draco just had to get in the way, _again_.

"Maybe that friend of yours, the stupid oaf." Draco's lips curled into a sneer as they pulled up into a half-smirk. "Maybe's he's been messing with things that are too big for him." Draco's tongue peaked out to lick at his lips and Harry's eyes flickered down to stare as it peaked out for a second swipe against his lower lip. "_If you catch my drift._"

Harry glared at him, a frown on his face. _Giants_. "Why are you telling me this?" He asked, but Draco didn't answer straight away and instead stared at Harry for a while with that strange look in his eyes that was becoming more and more familiar. When he did speak his voice was low, and he refused to meet Harry's eyes.

"No one else seems to want to tell you anything. But out of everyone you deserve to know, you need to know…to keep yourself safe. Someone's got to keep you safe." Draco said in a hushed voiced, and then there was a moment where green and silver-grey clashed before Harry suddenly felt like everything made sense. _Draco was trying to protect him. But he's a Slytherin, and a Death Eater's son, and I'm Harry bloody Potter. It would never work, something would have to give. Something would have to break. Some_one_ would have to break. Was it worth it?_ Harry watched with a deep pain beating with every beat of his heart as Draco walked away from him and back towards his usual crowd of Slytherin followers, and Harry was left alone. Blaise's dark eyes stared at him from across the lawn but he didn't come over or say anything to anyone, he just stared. And Harry felt more alone then he had in years, even when it was his birthday and the Dursely's looked him in the cupboard under the stairs for the entire day – a day free of chores being his only present other than a kick to the face.

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Fifth-year.  
December 25__th__ 1994._

On Yule morning that Harry still thinks of as Christmas, he wakes up to Sirius as Padfoot jumping on his bed and licking his face. When Harry groans and tries to push his godfather away Sirius barks at him and takes the corner of his thick comforter between his strong jaws and starts pulling until Harry ends up tumbling half-off the bed. It's not his favorite way to wake up but it's probably one of the best ways he's been woken up on Christmas morning since he first started attending Hogwarts. Everyone is already down stairs when Harry stumbles in and Mrs. Weasley has made a feast that the House Elf's of Hogwarts would be jealous of. Breakfast is a generally loud affair with too many people trying to talk at once and elbows knocking as they cut into bacon and pour hot syrup on their pancakes. It a good day were nothing really happens and the insanity that usually lingers around the edges of Sirius' eyes is thankfully absent today. They play games in the living room and listen to the Order share stories about before the first war with Voldemort and Remus and Sirius entertain everyone with antedates of their days as the Marauders. Presents however were something that Sirius refuses to share with the rest of the house, and he pulls Harry away into the master bedroom of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place to unwrap their gifts together. Harry doesn't mind and in fact he thinks he probably prefers it this way. Most of his gifts are nothing special; he receives his annual Weasley jumper from Ms. Weasley and a joint present between Arthur and his two eldest sons of a new pair of black Doc Martins boots; Hermione gets him a series of books on borderline illegal defensive spells that Harry takes note of to hide from Moody, but Sirius at least seems impressed when Harry shows him the title; Tonks gifts him with two drangonhide wrist wand-hostlers and Ginny sends him broachers of professional Quidditch applications with a note telling him to think about it; Ron sends him large box of his favorite sweets and Fred and George gift him with a black rubber duck with a crudely drawn lightingbolt and glasses painted on in some sort of colour changing ink; Remus gives him a muggle train ticket and tell him that he has an appointment at Halfords courtesy of Sirius bank account; but Harry's favorite is definitely Sirius' gift. The Potter ring was gold, set it with a large ruby that had a detailed crest of a roaring lion and crossed swords etched into the precious stone in lines of gold. It was heavy, and a little too ostentatious for Harry's liking but when he slipped it onto his finger he felt like a sense of family and protection had rush through his veins and straight to his heart, to his soul. He couldn't imagine taking it off again.

Later when he returns to room he would find Hermes, Blaise's black and brown feathered falcon owl that seemed to have a bit of a thing for Hedwig, waiting for him on the wooden perch Dumbledore had gifted to Harry on the request of Fawkes. _Though how that worked Harry had no idea_. Hermes had came with a delivery of two packages that upon unwrapping Harry would discover were presents, the first, a larger gift from Blaise, and the second, a smaller hand wrapped gift from Draco. Blaise's gift was a set of simple looking daggers with black handles and polished blades, but after reading Blaise's attached note however Harry would learn that the blades were coated with different poisons and the antidotes were hidden in a secret compartment in the handle – it was to protect himself with, or so Blaise said. And Draco's gift were two nearly identical thick silver cuffs with runes etched around the seamless metal, and Harry would only found out much later (years _after_ he'd tried them on and watched them resize to his wrists) that they were the Malfoy betrothal cuffs.

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Fifth-year.  
January 15__th__ 1995._

Professor Dolores Umbridge was a _bitch_. She was a bitch that had a crazed-fixation for using illegal Bloodquills on students. Or maybe she just had a crazed-fixation for using illegal Bloodquills on Harry. Either way. She was still a bitch, and she made him use it in every ill-deserved detention she assigned him; the first one was in January after he'd shouted at her in class for spreading Ministry propaganda and trying to ignore the huge fucking problem that _Voldemort had returned_. His detention had been scheduled at five, so at a quarter to Harry bade goodbye to Ron and Hermione and left them playing chess in front of the Gryffindor fire as he set of for Professor Umbridge's office on the third floor. He knocked on the door and only hesitated for a moment when she called for him to come in with her sickly, sugar-toned voice. He entered the office cautiously and couldn't help but looked around, he'd known this office under three of its previous occupants and each one had been different in their own way: Professor Lockhart who'd lost his memory after a backfired spell from Ron's wand, Professor Lupin who'd almost bitten Harry and Hermione on the night of the full moon, and the impostor Moody who'd actually been Bartemius Crouch Jr. in disguise. He'd never been inside the office however when Voldemort was teaching disguised as Professor Quirrell but Harry didn't think it would look anything alike how it did now. In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here the office had been plastered in beaming portraits of himself, with awards and framed cutout articles from Witch Weekly lining the walls. When Remus Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating dark creature in a cage or tank as it preened itself when you came to call and in the impostor Moody's days it had been packed with various instruments and artifacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment that Harry suspected was only half-due of Barty attempting to keep in character. But now, under Dolores Umbridge's reign, it was totally unrecognizable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths that would look more in place at one of his aunt's tea parties and there were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on it own dolly. But Harry's eyes were draw to the far wall were an extensive collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicoloured kitten wearing it own different size and colour bow around its neck, hung on the wall. They were so foul that Harry could do nothing but stare at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again. "Good evening, Mr. Potter."

Harry startled and looked around for Professor Umbridge. He hadn't noticed her at first because she was wearing a luridly floral set of robes that blended in a little too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her. Harry stared. "Evening, Professor Umbridge." He said, the sound was stiff and stilted but Professor Umbridge only smiled sweetly at him.

"Well. Sit down." She said, pointing towards the middle of the office where she'd drawn up a single desk draped in lace and a straight-backed chair with a pink cushion pinned to the seat. _Well that was certainty rather emasculating to Harry's masculinity. Forced into a detention for telling the truth and now forced into a seat with a pink cushion. The horrors of Hogwarts under Dolores Umbridge's influence never ceased_.

"Err…" Harry said, without moving. "Professor Umbridge. Em. Before we start, I – I wanted to ask you a…a favor."

"Oh." Professor Umbridge's bulging eyes narrowed. "A favor?"

"Well, I'm…I'm in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday and I was wondering whether I could request for my detention that night to be…held on another night, instead?" But Harry knew long before he reached the end of his sentence that it was no good trying to reason with new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor that seemed to hate him without reason. He saw the answer in those horrible eyes of hers before she'd even opened her mouth to give her reply.

"Oh, no." Professor Umbridge said, smiling so widely that she looked every bit of the toad Harry had been mentally comparing her to and in that moment as she stared at him she looked as if she'd just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. "Oh, no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr. Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you." Harry felt the blood surge to his head and heard a thumping noise in his ears as his blood rushed through his veins like fire. So he told evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, did he? He clenched his teeth and said forced himself to say nothing. But _Professor _Umbridge was watching him with her head slightly to one side and she was still smiling at him as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and was waiting to see whether or not he would try to defy her again. With a massive effort Harry looked away from her, dropped his schoolbag beside the straight-backed chair before sitting down. "There." Professor Umbridge said sweetly. "We're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we?" _Patronizing_, Harry thought. He wondered what she would think when if hands wrapped around her fat throat and crush her windpipe until she gave out and died under his hands. "Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr. Potter. No, not with your quill." She added when Harry bent down to open his bag. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are." She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point. Harry arched an eyebrow at it put picked it up anyway. "I want you to write, I must not tell lies." She told him softly.

"How many times?" Harry asked, with a creditable imitation of politeness.

"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in." Professor Umbridge said sweetly. "Off you go." She said as she moved over to her desk, sitting down on her more comfortable but still _pink_ armchair, and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays waiting to be marked. Harry raised the sharp black quill before frowning as he realized what was missing.

"Err. Professor?" Harry said. "You haven't given me any ink."

"Oh, you won't need ink." Professor Umbridge said with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice, but Harry was hardly in a position where he could question her. Harry narrowed his eyes at her before turning back to the quill. It looked completely normal if not for the obvious differences from the average quills most Hogwarts students used, but Blaise had gifted him a self inking red-feather quill for his birthday over the summer and he'd seen a few of the purebloods spelling their quills so they were magically connected to a inkpot and they wouldn't have to fuss about carrying any more things around in their bags until the pot ran dry. He wondered how this quill was different but he didn't have anyway of finding out so with a sigh Harry placed the sharp point of the quill against the parchment and wrote: _I must not tell lies_. However, he let out a startled gasp at the unexpected pain that followed his written words and the black-feathered quill feel from between his shaking fingers to stab through the parchment with another sharp pain aching through Harry's hand. The words Harry had written, _I must not tell lies_, had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shinning red ink. It had appeared without the aid of any ink but at the same that Harry was writing on the parchment Professor Umbridge had provided for him the words had written themselves into the back of Harry's right hand, cutting into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel. Yet even as Harry stared at the shinning cut on his hand, the skin healed over and left the place where it had been slightly redder than before but still smooth. Harry looked up at Professor Umbridge to find her watching him with her wide, toad-like mouth stretched into a smile. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

Harry stared at her for a moment, but in the end he bit his tongue and said; "Nothing."

"That's right. Because deep down you know that you deserve to be punished. Don't you, Mr. Potter?" Harry says nothing, though it is difficult with the anger he feels rushing through him and into his head, clouding his thoughts in a haze of red. He looks back down at the parchment where his one line of _I must not tell lies_ is written and he writes it again, trying to ignore the searing, itching pain on the back of his hand as he writes and third and forth lines; _I must not tell lies_. Once again, the words are being cut into his skin as he writes them. Once again, the cuts have healed over in seconds. And so it goes on. It wasn't the worse pain Harry had ever felt; his uncle had taken his belt off and beaten with the buckle more times then Harry could remember, and his aunt had pressed the soft skin of his young hands against the oven fire when he'd burn Dudley's birthday breakfast when he was seven and she was particularly spiteful in any punishments she'd given him, and if Dudley had ever caught him during his game of _Harry Hunting_ then the beating he would receive would be almost as bad as uncle Vernon's fists. Harry had more broken bones and bruises both in the muggle world and in the wizarding world then what he could count, and he had scares that crissed and crossed over back, chest, arms and thighs, but Professor Umbridge's punishment was a new sort of torture that Harry wasn't sure how he was supposed to deal with it. The thoughts circled uselessly in his mind throughout the detention but again and again Harry wrote the lines onto the parchment and clenched his right hand into a fist as the words were cut into the back of his hand, healed, and reopened again the next time he set quill to parchment.

"Come here." Professor Umbridge called to him, after what had seemed like hours. Darkness had fallen outside the office window and Harry had no dared ask when he would be allowed to stop. He hadn't even checked the leather wristwatch Sirius had gifted him with for Yule last year because he knew Professor Umbridge was waiting and watching him for any signs of weakness. But his uncle Vernon had beat it into him quite clearly that weakness would only give him more pain, so Harry had remained stoic and still in the face of the forced self-inflicted harm and refused to show the horrid woman any weakness, not even if he'd had to sit there all night cutting into his own hand with this damn quill. But then she was calling him over to her desk and Harry would happily admit to feeling grateful if it meant he got to leave. He stood up, expecting his head to feel light and dizzy but all he felt was a shakiness in his arms and a tightness around his chest. His hand was still stinging and painful and there was a burning sort of itch that feel skin deep, but when he looked down at it he saw was that the cut had healed but that the skin was still red raw. "Hand." Professor Umbridge demanded. Harry bit down onto the soft flesh of his lip but extended his hand anyway, he refused to flinch when she took in it her hand with claw-like nails digging into the soft skin of his palm and wrist. He repressed a shudder as she touched him with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings on each and choose a spot to stare at over her shoulder as she began to speak again. "Tut, tut. I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet." She said, smiling. "Well. We'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go." Harry left her office without a word. Harry was sure it was already past midnight and the moonlight shone through the large, arched windows to bath the hallways in an eerie, silver glow but Harry was just glad to be away from Professor Umbridge. The school was quite deserted at this late hour though he did run into a few third years that were out exploring the castle. Harry walked slowly up the corridor, then, when he had turned the corner and was sure she would not hear him, he broke into a run. Later, when he returned to the Gryffindor common room and sneaked up into the fifth-year boys dormitory to find all of the beds with their hangings drawn but with Ron waiting up in bed for him to return, Ron would ask him how his detention with Professor Umbridge went. Harry would smile and lie and say it was fine, and when Ron asked what she made him do during the detention Harry would hesitate for a fraction of a second before saying in a perfectly clear voice; _lines_.

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Fifth-year.  
January 23__rd__ 1994._

Harry was sure Professor Binns must have obtained a masters in _boring his student's to death_, maybe he'd framed it in his office besides the masters he'd held in Wizarding History and Research when he was still human, because he somehow managed to turn even the most interesting of lesson subjects into a dull monologue of words that sent his students straight to sleep. Harry was also sure that the battle of the of вечнозелени гори was an interesting subject. Really. It was the pinnacle moment when the elfin race was divided into subdivisions, and the difference of opinion soon become so violent that war had broken out amongst their race. Their were two main fractions; the elf's who'd wanted to serve under wizarding rule and the elf's who wanted the right any magical creature should have been entitled to, freedom. In the end it was the elves who'd wanted their freedom that had won and they'd, ironically, taken a dictator-style leadership over the rest of their race. They'd banished the elves and their subdivisions that had wanted to serve the wizards and stripped them off their free magic, forcing them to bond themselves in servitude to a wizard-Lord's family if they wanted to survive. The new rulers of their race had also stripped them of their natural beauty and grace, binding them to an ugly and deformed body, before sailing away in search for something they called неумиращата земи that the wizards had never been able find or even prove existed. The elves that remained had been later named House-Elf's after generations of severing under their wizard-masters and never leaving the house that had taken them in after their exiling. The origins of their culture lay mostly forgotten today. But Professor Binns made it sound so _tedious_.

Harry's eyes strayed across the room, to look at mass of students who all looked to he half-asleep or more, and even Hermione eyes were staring to look heavy as she hurriedly scribbled down more of her short-handed notes on Professor Binns' lecture. Harry sighed. He would have to resign himself to another forty minutes of this dull monologue-toned lecture and a study session that Hermione would force him and Ron into tonight to go over what Professor Binns had covered but none of them had paid any attention to. He sighed, again. It wasn't an uncommon thing, History of Magic was a Hogwarts subject that had scored on average Poor or Acceptable since Professor Binns' death, and anything below an Exceeds Expectations was something Hermione would not stand for. In truth, she wanted nothing better than Outstanding's across all of their subjects, but Harry thought she knew how unreasonable that was considering Harry's poor performance in Potions and Divination and Ron's general lack of enthusiasm, but she was still doing everything within her power to make sure Harry and Ron scored to the best of their abilities. Which meant, more often than not, late night study sessions in the library and flashcards that Ron had tried to burn when Hermione wasn't looking. Harry turned his head to look at Ron and found himself grinning at the blank look Ron was staring at Professor Binns with, his shoulders were hunched over their desk and his head was propped up by his hand, but he looked dangerously close to falling asleep at any moment. Harry blinked slowly and looked around the classroom to see the same dazed expression mirrored on most of his classmates faces. _He was in a world filled with magic and wonder, a world filled with horror and things he didn't have a hope at understanding, and yet he sat around in a classroom bored out his mind just the same as any muggle in their school did during a particularly grueling lesson. Were wizards and muggles really so different?_

With little else to do than try and stay awake or to study his half-asleep classmates Harry found himself becoming lost in his own thoughts, which was a rather common occurrence during any History of Magic lesson had this early in the morning, and Harry again found himself questioning fate and his life choices. [_Like how Harry wants to press his thumb against Draco's lips, to feel the soft, subtle flesh parting under the rough pressure of his thumb and to feel the wet warmth of Draco's tongue reaching out to greet him. Harry imagines silver-grey eyes staring up at him with a dark look full of hunger, kneeling on the dirty floor with his face nuzzled into Harry's hip. Harry imaginings Draco whining as the pressure of his hard cock against the zipper of his school trousers becomes both painful and pleasurable. He imagines falling to his knees besides Draco and pulling the Slytherin boy into a kiss that is both begging and demanding –_] There was no way they could be together. [_Like how Harry wants to feel nails biting into his skin as hands manipulated his body how they wanted it; maybe they would force his head back at an angle were he would struggle for breath as they fucked into him, maybe they would tie his hand behind his back with a silver and green tie and come all over his face and chest, maybe they would press their cocks into his open mouth a laugh when he choked as he tried to swallow. Like how he wanted to fall asleep with the warmth of them pressed to his back and against his front. Like how he wanted to wake up to find them watching him, or having their hands on his sleep-warm body and working their tongues and their fingers into him so they can fuck him awake –_] But even as Harry was thinking this, that he can't have them, he hands itched to run themselves through fair hair and dark curls. [_Like how he wanted Blaise to stalk across that deserted classroom he hadn't known existed and trap him against the stone wall. When Harry was alone behind the hangings of his bed with a strong Silencing Charm he would imagine that Blaise would hold him there against the wall, enjoying Harry's fear and his confusion, and he imagined that Blaise would stare at the pulse fluttering wildly against the long arch of Harry's neck. And maybe Blaise would laugh, or maybe he would bury his nose into the stretch of skin that joined Harry's neck and shoulder, maybe he would breathed in Harry's smell and used his hands to feel out every contour of his arms and chest until his cock was heavy in his trousers and pressed against the curve of Harry's hip. He imagined that Blaise would play with him a little, scrapping his teeth against the pulse of his neck, bit at his ear, suckling at Harry's skin to coax a dark mark against the hallow of his collarbone. He imagined when finally, finally, Blaise's hand unbuttoned his trousers and tugged the zip down that his hand would feel hot against Harry's cock and tight as he fisted him, and Harry would scream as Blaise –_] But Harry already knew that if he wanted to be with them something would have to give, something would have to break. And he doubted he would be the same boy standing at the end of it as the boy he was when he walked into _whatever this was_. But he wanted it. He wanted them. Even as he was trying to talk himself out of wanting them he was imaging what their expressions would reveal as that moment of ecstasy captured them helpless.

Ron yawning beside him brought a startled Harry out of his thoughts, and he suddenly felt very uneasy by how quickly his thoughts had escalated. _Maybe it was wrong, to lust after two boys like he did. His aunt said it was a sin, to lie with another man. "If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them." But then his aunt also said it magic was a sin… "__Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." But, if magic gave him such joy then surely it couldn't be wrong. And then maybe, maybe lusting after two boys wasn't wrong either. Maybe Harry wasn't wrong. Maybe his aunt was_. Could Harry help it if his eyes lingered a little too long on dark hands and the curve of a smile that so few got to see? Could he help it if when he was behind the hanging of his bed and protected by a strong Silencing Charm he came to the though of a low, seductive voice whispering dirty things in his ear? Could Harry be blamed if his heart tried to beat out of his chest as he watched pale thighs encased in the tight beige trews of their Quidditch uniform clenched firmly against the stick of his new racing-broomstick as they both chased after the elusive Snitch? Could he help it if his eyes followed the raised clothing seam that ran between his legs? Could Harry be blamed for falling for both of them? _Probably. But Harry was passed the point of caring anymore._ Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cast his eyes around the room to check that his classmates weren't paying too much attention to him. They were sharing this lesson with the Hufflepuffs, and most of them seemed content to ignore him so he wasn't too worried about any of them noticing his hunched back or the tightness around his eyes or his half-hard cock pressing up into his zipper under the table. Harry frowned, almost glaring down at the desk in the intensity of his frustration. _He'd never been so desperate to touch them. His fingers ached with the need, his heart hurt, and he thought he might actually cry if he couldn't feel them under his hands soon_. "Harry." A soft, small hand that was gentle and definitely feminine fell upon his lower arm and Harry found himself staring at it in some strange sort of wonder. "Are you all right?" Hermione's voice was shaking as she spoke, though she seemed to be making a conscious effort to talk quietly so as to not draw any unwanted attention to them.

"Yes." He lied without even having to think about it. "I'm fine."

"You're fine? Harry. _Look at your hand_." He frowned at the worried undertone of her voice but did what she asked anyway, and when he looked down at his hands he realized why she suddenly sounded so scared. On a guess Harry would say his hands must have clenched into fists while he was thinking, and the tawny brown-feathered quill he used for most of his lessons had broken into the skin of his right palm in a mess of black ink and blood and ruined feather-veins. It looked painful but Harry hardly felt it, honestly Professor Umbridge's detentions were far worse and Harry thought the nerves in his right hand were probably becoming desensitized after months of using the Bloodquill she was so fond off. Harry sighed. He drew his wand and started quietly muttering a few of the healing spells Madam Pomfrey had taught him while he was stuck in the Hospital Wing on bed rest, and he try his best to smile at Hermione when she squeezed his arm again. Her eyes were bright and worried but she didn't question him like he would have suspect she would when he told her he was fine. She must have known it was lie but maybe she thought he needed some time and would go to her when he was ready. But Harry would never be ready to admit how dark and angry his thoughts felt recently. It wasn't anything a few spells and endless bouts of denial couldn't cure. He would be fine. _He would_.

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Fifth-year.  
February 4__th__ 1995._

Harry was sitting on one of the lesser-used balconies in the Astrometry Tower with his shoes kicked off and one leg on either side of the railing. His tie was undone but still around his neck and his robes sat next to his shoes in a pile on the floor. A pack of cigarettes lay open atop of his robes. He sighed. A door banged open close by and Harry frowned as he heard the sound of shoes striking sound and low, arguing voices. And then suddenly Harry was being dragged over the railing and pressed into the outside wall of the Astrometry Tower. "_You_." Harry hissed in pain as the back of his head collided harshly with the stone wall behind him. His vision swam with a grey tone edging at the corners and even as Harry tried to blink away the pain he still couldn't see straight without the glasses that had been stolen right off his face. "You are the most infuriating git I have ever had the misfortune of meeting!" Though of course, Harry didn't need his vision to know who _that_ voice belonged to.

"_Urg_. Evening to you too, Malfoy."

"Potter. I swear by Merlin and Morgana I will–"

"Draco." Blaise's voice interrupted Draco's rant. "There's no need to hurt him." Harry felt Draco's weight against him shift and he saw the unfocused blur of what he assumed was Blaise coming to stand behind Draco.

"There's no need to hurt him?" _Like he hurt us?_

"No. There's no need to hurt him." Blaise repeated with a little chuckle. "And give him his glasses back, it's hardly fair now is it?" He said. "Draco." Blaise voice darkened as he spoke Draco's name again, and Harry felt Draco shifting against him again even as an exhale of breath fanned across his lips. _You taste sweet_. "Give him his glasses back." Harry tried his hardest not to move as he felt the wire frames of his glasses being pressed back in against his temples and onto his face. Draco rested them perfectly on Harry's nose, slightly below the bridge but not so far down that they felt as if they were about to fall off, just like Harry always wore them and he wondered how Draco knew just how he liked to wear them. He frowned again as a wash of lightheaded accomplished the sudden clarity in which he could see everything. He found Draco standing close enough to see the flush of exertion to his cheeks and the blue tones to his silver-grey eyes. He found Blaise standing behind Draco with his chin resting on Draco's shoulder, dark eyes watching Harry in that strange way he sometimes did. One of his hands was gripping Draco's hip so tightly that his fingernails were white and his other hand was pressed against the wall by Harry's head. _It might not have been a very masculine thing to say, but they were so, so beautiful_.

Harry closed his eyes and tried not to react as Draco took a half-step closer towards him, pressing him tighter against the wall with Blaise following him in a full step that pushed Draco in-between Harry thighs. Which was awkward to say the least. Harry shot both of them an unimpressed look with green eyes he was sure were spitting fire. "Care to explain what this is all about?" Harry asked. "Or do you just have a thing for pushing me against walls?" Blaise chuckled as if he'd said something ridiculously funny but Draco's glare only seemed to intensify into something dark and shadowed in pain. "Or are you just going to keep me here until its time for lesson's tomorrow?"

"Who says I'll you go for lessons tomorrow?" Draco said in his usual, infuriating drawl. There was an emotion glinting in his silver-grey eyes that Harry couldn't name and the slight flush to his cheeks that Harry had thought was exertion looked more like…excitement, but for what? _For pushing Harry around? Likely. Draco did seem to love doing that; he especially seemed to love pushing him up against a wall_. Draco's hand flatted against his left hip and followed the line up his chest until he reached Harry's neck. Draco's fingers whispered against his skin, his nails catching against Harry's collar bone and ticking against the long arch of his throat until he had wrapped his hand around the back of Harry's neck. "Who says I'll let you go?" Draco whispered, his pale eyelashes fluttering on his next exhale before he stared up at Harry. And Harry wanted to ask him what he was talking about, because it almost sounded like – "Smoking, Harry?" Draco asked instead, his silver-grey eyes flickering down to the pack of cigarettes sitting atop of Harry's robes on the floor to the light dusting of ash sitting on the railing Harry had been sitting on. So of course Harry answered in the most mature way possible.

"Fuck off." Draco laughed.

"I didn't think you had it in you." Blaise said, an arched eyebrow rising with a half-serious mocking expression on his face, and Harry more felt than saw Draco's laugh against his cheek. When Harry looked back at Draco he saw that none of the anger had left his eyes and even if he was smiling now there was something that hinted at _hurt_ hidden just beneath the surface of his skin. Draco shifted against him and Harry felt angular hipbones moving against his own and froze as they continued to shift ever so slightly. _If Harry wasn't so sure that Draco and Blaise were in a committed relationship that spread back years he could have almost fool himself into thinking Draco was doing it on purpose. And, if he wasn't so sure that Draco and Blaise were in a committed relationship that spread back years, he would have probably already taken Draco's hips in his hands and pushed back against the too soft movements. If Harry weren't so sure that Draco and Blaise were in a committed relationship that spread back years he most definitely would have brought them off together under the watchful gaze of Blaise's dark eyes_. But he wouldn't. Harry wouldn't put himself in a position were he could taste the thing he wanted the most only to have it taken away again.

"Shut up."

"Oh, he's so charming tonight. Don't you think so, Draco?" Blaise whispered, his lips pressing against the curve of Draco's ear and his teeth catching on the lobe, but his dark eyes stayed permanently fixed on Harry. And there was that same hidden sense of hurt hidden just below the surface of Blaise's skin as Draco had. _What had happened?_

"I could put you in detention, you know?" Draco said in his familiar drawl, and his hand tightened uncomfortably on the back of Harry's neck when Harry tried to move away. He bounced of Draco's chest like some sort of amusing muggle cartoon and he whined when the back of his head hit the stone wall behind him again. Draco's thumb reached up to rub at the sore skin, making Harry feel a confusing mix of emasculated, hurt, and comforted all at once. "But there's just so many broken rules to choose from." Draco said. "We could start with you being out of your rooms after hours. Or we could deduct points for sneaking in banned substances. Really Potter, _smoking_ on school grounds. Tut tut." Harry wondered if Draco would still be grinning with that damned conceited look on his face if Harry were to punch him in the face. His reaction alone would probably be worth it. "And then there's the fact that you used said banned substances. I hear Professor Umbridge has become rather fond of giving you detentions – maybe I should assign you to her." Harry's tries not to shiver but he imagines the way he tries to hide his right hand behind his back and diverts his eyes is probably a huge clue that he's utterly terrified of their Defense professor. "Or maybe I'll assign you to Snape, for resisting a Prefect. Though I doubt he'll care for the reason."

"Resisting a Prefect?" Harry and Blaise asked simultaneously, both as unconvinced as the other. "That is so not an actual offence." Harry went on to say, but Draco only chuckled as if he were amused. Harry sighed, casting his cigarettes a look and wishing he could have another smoke. But he only had four left and even if he could manage to escape from Draco and Blaise's arms he had to try and make them last until the next Hogsmead weekend in two weeks. "I on the other hand could report you for an actual offence. Abusing your position as a Prefect of Slytherin House. Or I could report you for the vicious misconduct towards my person to my Head of House. Which would you prefer your badge being stripped from you for?" Harry asked, making sure to keep his voice calm and polite but he couldn't seem to stop himself from flashing a smile when he finished and saw the considering look Draco was giving him.

"_Just like a Slytherin_." Blaise whispered to Draco, but Harry heard every word of it anyway and he felt it when Draco shivered from in-between them.

"Pansy told me a rather interesting story today." Draco whispered in a completely different direction than what either Harry or Blaise had been talking about moment before. Blaise didn't look as confused as Harry felt though so Harry could only guess whatever Pansy had told Draco she'd also told Blaise. "Cho Chang was laughing outside of the Great Hall as she went to meet that friend of hers, you know, the mudblood one with the blonde hair–"

"Don't call her that." Harry said. _Her name was Marietta Edgecombe and she was a part of the DA. Not to mention the best friend of the girl he had been sort of dating for the past few months. To be honest he was surprised the whole school didn't know about it by now_ –

"Hush." Blaise said, his dark eyes intent and still fixed solely on him and Harry_ couldn't look away_. Blaise's lips curled into a smiled and he whispered to "pay attention," in the same low, hushed voice he always used. Harry saw Blaise's lips moving but he wasn't sure if he really heard him.

"–so of course, Pansy being the nosey bitch she is just had to find out what was going on. Chang hasn't been happy in such a long time now, from even before you showed up on the front of Hogwarts lawn with her dead boyfriends body." Draco said. "Her flying has been pathetic and I heard Roger Davis is even considering kicking her off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Then of course there's her mother's poor standing in the Ministry and her father's gambling debts, so you can understand why Pansy was so curious about her sudden shift from depressed to happy." Harry felt a hot, rising anger that begged him to defend Cho. After all she was his (of a sorts) girlfriend. But something was stopping him from speaking and Harry wasn't sure if it was anything other than him _not wanting _to defend Cho. "Imagine Pansy's surprise when she hears Chang and the mudblood talking about you as they walk through the third floor corridor towards their Charm lesson. And there's Chang, all happy smiles and giggles as she explains in explicit detail how perfect you've been in comforting her after Cedric Diggory's death. How patient you've been in waiting for her to be ready. How breathless you make her when you kiss her." Draco's voice had dropped into one continuous growl and Harry would admit to his heart jumping in fear. Draco looked, terrifying actually. _And that should not be a turn on_. "So tell me, Potter." Harry's name was drawled through clenched teeth, and Draco's voice was so angry and hurt, and Harry was so confused. "How long have you been dating the Ravenclaw tart?"

"Don't call her a tart."

"Don't call her a tart?" Draco repeated with what Harry thought might be surprising flashing through his silver-grey eyes. "Are you actually defending her?"

"Its kind of what you're supposed to when someone starts badmouthing the girl you're dating." Harry answered, voice dull and eyes carefully apathetic. But a pale blonde eyebrow arched as if he'd said something unexpected and Harry noticed Blaise shifting from behind Draco.

"Do you even like her?" Blaise asked.

"Define like." Blaise snorted, just once, and then frowned.

"Why are you with her?"

"Because I can't have who I really want, so will you two fuck off now." Harry asked in the closest thing to a shout he'd ever used with the two of them. There was a dull ache as he clenched his teeth too tightly but he refused to look back at the silver-grey eyes and the dark eyes watching him. "_Bloody hell you two are impossible_."

"You don't want Chang?" Harry sneered at Draco, but this time he didn't ignore how silver-grey eyes darkened in response. "So you're using Chang to get over this someone you can't have?" Draco asked, even though he obviously already knew the answer, and he stepped closer at Harry's lack of response, even though it should have been impossible for him to get any closer. He was so close now that Harry felt like he couldn't breath. "You don't get to move on from us, Harry." Draco breathed against his lips before pulling him into a rough kiss. Harry didn't even have time to think that this was the first time Draco had used his first name before he was kissing back. It's wasn't perfect in a muggle fairytale sort of way, there's a little too much teeth and the angle's was a little awkward and when Draco nibbles down on his bottom lip it hurts just a little to much to be pleasurable, but it's Draco that's kissing him and for that reason alone it's perfect.

_It's Draco_, Harry thinks, _Draco is kissing me_, and he arches his entire body up into him as he moans into the kiss, wanting more, and Draco happily gives it to him. And then, just as Harry thinks he's about to pass out, the hand cladding the back of his neck squeezes and Draco's lips withdraw from his with a single breath of _oh_. He looks up to see Draco staring down at him with rather soft eyes and an odd set to his mouth while Blaise's nails scratch down Draco's side and whisper what he should do to Harry next. Harry's complaint of Draco's lips leaving his catches when he hears Blaise whisper _don't you want to fuck him, Draco? Don't you want to watch him cry as he comes? How many times have we imagined this?_ and Harry leans up readily when a hand pulls at the base of his hair, his own hands trailing down Draco's side to meet Blaise's hands. And later, when Blaise steals him from Draco's lips and kisses him, it's so very different to Draco demanding lips and hard press of teeth and tongue. When Blaise kisses him it's wet and rough but there's no fight in their actions. _Harry and Draco can't help it, they were born to fight, even when they're kissing they're still fighting. Harry loves it. He thinks Draco loves it too by the way his hips are moving against Harry's and back into Blaise's_. And later, when Blaise leaves his lips Harry will whine and try to follow him, but Blaise will only chuckle at him and scrape his cheek against the delicate skin of Harry's throat on his way to darken the mark Draco left on his neck. And as Blaise bites over Draco's mark his hands will cover Draco's on Harry's hips to keep them from jerking up at the pressure of his teeth, though he won't be very successful. And then suddenly it'll be Draco's who's whining at the feeling of Harry's half-hard cock pressing against his through their school trousers and the familiar heavy feel of Blaise's hard cock pressing more firmly against his arse. But right now Draco's still kissing him and he's still got Blaise left to explore and he loves it, even if he knows there's no going back from this now.

_Kissing atop the Astrometry Tower_, Harry thinks as Draco presses his tongue and lips against his collarbone to suck a mark onto his skin._ What a cliché_.

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Fifth-year.  
May 17__th__ 1995._

"What is this?" Blaise asks as his fingers feel along the raised, scarred words that Professor Umbridge's Bloodquill had started to leave permanently written across his hand. Harry flinches and snatches his hand away from Blaise's, moving on the mattress so he was sat with his back facing both Blaise and Draco. He stares down at the words scarred onto his hand listlessly. _I must not tell lies_.

"It's nothing." Harry whispered eventually, though he still doesn't move and he feels himself becoming tenser the longer the silence between them stretches.

"It's nothing?" Blaise repeats with the merest touch of disbelief in his voice, and Harry feels the bed shifting and moving behind him before a warm hand is pressing against the bare flesh of his shoulder. "Harry–" Blaise paused, hesitating. "It's Professor Umbridge, isn't it?" He whispered with an angry undertone to his voice that belied any calmness he was trying to exude. Harry's breath hitches in response. "Tell me it's her Harry and I'll make her stop." Blaise whispered. "You have to know that I would kill anyone that dared touch you, Harry. I would kill anyone whose dared scared your skin, and every hand that has been raised to hurt you will beg for their deaths before we're through with them. Jus tell me a name, Harry. A surname even, and I'll find them." Draco had crawled up behind him on the bed and his arms slowly wrap under Harrys arms to hug him to his chest as Blaise speaks. But Harry didn't, or maybe he couldn't, move. He can feel the rough pad of Blaise's fingers tracing along the old scars that marked his body and Harry knew they wouldn't accept anything but the truth this time. But he couldn't say it. Couldn't open his mouth and form the words to say that Professor Umbridge had sat him in her pink, frilly office and tortured him without even raising her wand. He couldn't open his month and form the words to tell them of what the horrors growing up under his uncle's heavy, wandering hand had been like. Harry couldn't admit to his weakness. _He didn't want to admit he was weak. Not to them. Please not to them_. "I know it's her, Harry." Blaise whispered against his ear, and Draco's hands run down his sides with a slight scratch of dull nails that had him hissing not wholly in discomfort. "I know it a Bloodquill she's using. It's the only thing that could give you a scar like that. It leaves a very distinctive mark." Blaise's fingers were tracing over the Bloodquill-scar on Harry's hand now, as if to prove his point. His fingers ran over each raised bump and grove of the scar, following the long curve of Harry's _g_ and every arched line of his _e_ and Harry's breath catches on his response when Blaise raises his scarred hand to his parted lips to press a kiss against the Bloodquill-scar. "But." Blaise said. "For it to scar as deeply as this it must have caused you a lot of pain. Harry. Harry, _please_. Please tell me a name. I'll find them. I'll find _her_. And then I'll take her away from anyone that might save her, and I'll kill her." Draco pressed a kiss against Harry's neck when Harry hesitated in replying, and then he breathed hotly against it. Harry whined but tried not to give into heavy feeling that had him trapped there, sitting on the edge of Draco's bed in the Slytherin dorms and listening as Blaise planned murder. _But not just murder, revenge. Because Blaise was planning on killing someone for Harry, because someone had hurt Harry, and all he wanted was a name. Just a name_.

"It's just a name, Harry." Draco whispered, pressing another kiss to his neck. "We'll make her pay. We'll make her write line after line on her own Bloodquill. It's just a little Imperio." He whispered. "It'll take days. She'll be crying and begging for death before the end. But it'll be by her hand and her words that cut through her skin, muscle, and bone – it'll be that kill her. Her hands will be so mutilated by the end of it that when the blood loss finally takes her she'll be suffering from hallucinations and infections so horrid that she'll be delirious. She'll be so lost to the pain that we could do anything to her and even when the Aurors shift through her corpse's memories they wouldn't be able to tell what's lucid memory and what's not. We'll make her pay, Harry." Blaise nuzzled into Harry's left cheek, his stubble burning as he sort out Harry's lips and Harry didn't know what to do with these two boys wrapped around him and whispering dark promises of murder that he didn't have any doubt that they would follow through on. "It's just like Blaise said. _I would kill anyone who dared touch you_." And then Draco was grabbing at his chin and turning Harry's head into a rough kiss that spilt the tender flesh of Harry's bottom lip and smeared his blood between the two of them, and Harry was lost them to them. Just like he always was.

"No." Harry gasped as he pulls away from them, looking around the room with wide eyes and a face that felt too hot and too pale all at the same time. _No_. It wasn't a shout, but the silence that followed was as good as if he had raised his voice. _Because he shouldn't be listening to them planning a murder and feel nothing. He shouldn't want them to it. He shouldn't want them to fuck him and to fuck them over the desk where Dolores Umbridge writes the lines that will kill her. Because it's wrong. It's sick. And he shouldn't be as turned on as he is right now. _"No." He repeats, flinching away from Blaise's touch and Draco's hands that are still hugging him to his chest and Harry stands, walking across the room to find his shirt and his discarded shoes and his father's invisibility cloak. He's already wearing a pair of Dudley's old jogging bottoms but the body heat of Draco and Blaise had been enough to keep the chill of the dungeons from settling into his skin. He's grateful for that now only because it allows him to push his feet into his shoes and head to the door without having to bother about his trousers. He pulls his arms through his shirtsleeves but doesn't bother to button it up and he wraps the invisibility cloak around his shoulders. "I need to get going. Ron and Hermione will be worried." He mutters over his shoulder as he leaves, _runs_, from the room.

–

_Department of Mysteries; Sybill Trelawney; Prophecy Hall.  
June 18__th__ 1995._

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

–

_Number Four Privet Drive; Harry James Potter; Summer between fifth and sixth year.  
July 30__th__ 1995._

Hermes comes with a delivery the day before Harry's sixteenth birthday, and Harry frowns when he realizes it's a newspaper cutout. There's a little note attached to the back in Blaise's handwriting that he reads first, _no person and no thing will ever touch you like that again_ it says, but it doesn't make sense until Harry turns the newspaper cutout back around and reads the headline staring back at him. His hands shake and Harry thinks to himself that this is what a panic attack must feel like as Blaise's attached note falls from between his fingers. _No body touches you_. Blaise's handwriting stares up at him from the floor, and beside it the newspaper cutout that tells him of the gruesome death of Dolores Umbridge sit there innocently as if it hadn't just ruined his life.

_Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic's office Found Dead.  
__Reported to you by Rita Seeker._

_In the early hours of this morning Madam Undersecretary Professor Dolores Jane Umbridge was found dead in her office. Madam Umbridge was a Ministry of Magic bureaucrat who served as Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic under Ministers Cornelius Fudge, and our newly elected Minister Rufus Scrimgeour. Last year under Ministers Cornelius Fudge jurisdiction Madam Umbridge was installed as Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and then later Hogwarts High Inquisitor and Headmistress. However she was later suspended from all three of these positions at Hogwarts after students came forward with claims of cruelty and abusive punishments throughout Madam Umbridge time at Hogwarts. An internal investigation is still ongoing but it is believed that Madam Umbridge commonly used Bloodquill's as a form of punishment during her time at Hogwarts, and this morning she was found dead with a Bloodquill hanging limply between her mutated fingers. Head Auror Gawain Robards had this statement to give: "Madam Umbridge was found dead this morning by the prolonged use of a Bloodquill. Her hands were mutilated and her memories hold traces of an Imperious Curse commanding her to write the words 'I will not touch what does not belong to me'. We believe the curse is what stopped her from calling out for help. Madam Umbridge was signed in for three weeks of leave and her door was looked from the inside, as of yet we do not know how long Madam Umbridge was made to write the lines that kill her or how long she has been dead but we care currently following several leads. We have no doubt that this was the actions of an extremely Dark and experienced wizard and we urge the wizarding public to come forward with any information if they think they know who the perpetrator is." But with one student calling her 'interfering and condescending' and the professors having been quoted to saying 'she was generally hated by most students and teachers alike' the investigation will certainty be lengthy and time consuming. But by the words of Head Auror Gawain Robards, Madam Umbridge's murderer is 'an extremely Dark and experienced wizard' and with the return of You-Know-Who will Minister Rufus Scrimgeour have the resources to spear to question school children on the death of Madam Umbridge when the real killer is out there somewhere? This reporter thinks not, and with all the Auror's effects being put forth into…_

–

_Diagon Alley; Harry James Potter; Summer between fifth and year.  
August 3__rd__ 1995._

"Mum, can I have a Pygmy Puff?" Ginny asked her mother with a sweet smile. Mrs. Weasley's attention was drawn to her almost immediately and the twins rolled their blue eyes behind their mother's back. Harry and Ron had to turn away to and tried to hide their sniggering when Fred and George started mimicking their sister silently behind their mother's back, their mocking expressions were only half-serious but their actions were over exaggerated and loud even if they were trying to be silent. _They'd have no future as mime's_, Harry thought, _so it's probably a good thing that they're so successful as inventors_.

"A what?" Mrs. Weasley asked warily, still unaware of her son's goofing off behind her back. Ginny rolled her eyes at the twins and took her mother's elbow in hers to lead her older to the cage were the Pygmy Puffs were.

"Look." Ginny said. "They're so sweet." Ginny had stopped in front of the Pygmy Puffs cage and Mrs. Weasley moved aside to look at the strange creatures over her daughter's shoulder, giving Harry, Ron, and Hermione a momentarily unimpeded view of the window directly behind them. Harry's breath caught. Just as Mrs. Weasley had moved aside Draco Malfoy came into view. He was hurrying up the street, alone, with his shoulders tensed and held in an unnaturally stiff position as he walked. As he passed Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes he glanced over his shoulder giving Harry a chance to see his expression. He had a heavy frown marring the lines of his brow and his silver-grey eyes were flashing as he scanned the deserted streets of Diagon Alley. His cheeks were slightly flushed from the cold winds outside and Harry thought he caught a glimpse of teeth biting down into the soft flesh of his bottom lip – something Harry had learnt he rarely did and only ever if he was trying to get Blaise or Harry to fuck him or if he was nervous about something. Seconds later, Draco had moved beyond the scope of the shop window and they'd lost sight of him. Harry took a deep breath and let it go on a shaky exhale.

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel at seeing his – lover, boyfriend? – again, but he was sure that this tight feeling around his heart and his sweating palms weren't normal. He wiped his moist palms against his tights and tried to ignore how fast and how loud his heart was beating, great whooshing thumps pressing more insistently against his temples with each beat of his too-fast heart. No way was this normal. But then what was he suppose to feel, hate? Because Draco was a Death Eater's son and Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived. Anger? Because Draco's father had tried to kill him and his friends, again, and Harry's beloved godfather had been killed in the battle. No. Harry refused to believe everything was as black and white as all that. He didn't want to stop seeing Draco or Blaise but he didn't want to give up his morals either. _Maybe it won't matter_, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, _you haven't spoke to either of them since the battle at the Department of Mysteries. Draco hasn't spoken to you since your actions got his father locked up in Azkaban and you haven't spoken to Blaise since he sent you that newspaper clipping, maybe Draco and Blaise aren't even talking. Maybe whatever you had is already dead_. The truth was Harry was terrified that whatever they had was over. He was terrified that Draco would hate him and Blaise would think he wasn't worth the effort anymore. Rationally he knew that they'd hardly liked each other before they'd started messing around but this sort of hate would be different – Harry didn't want them to hate him.

He wondered if this hallow feeling in his heart was him only now starting to feel their loss from them life. He didn't like it.

"I wonder where his mom is?" Harry wondered out loud, frowning. Draco had once told him during one of the many nights that Harry had sneaked out of the Gryffindor common room to meet up with him and Blaise, that his mother would rarely ever let him out of her sight. He'd compared her protectiveness to that of a lioness but when Harry asked if that made her a Gryffindor at heart he'd thrown a pillow at his face. Draco had often complained about her bad habit of constantly checking up on him, but Blaise had rolled his eyes and told Harry that Mrs. Malfoy was actually very nice and trusted Draco more than anyone else, and Harry had easily been able to see the love for his mother that Draco tried so hard to deny.

"He's given her the slip by the looks of it." Ron had apparently heard him and was now joining him in staring out of the glass window pointlessly.

"Well yes." Hermione said. "But why, though?" She asked, and Harry frowned. He wanted to push away the thought that whatever Draco was doing creeping around and sneaking off into Knockturn Alley couldn't be innocent, but Harry knew better than to try and question his instincts. They were they only thing that had kept him alive in this strange new world of magic where everything was inside-out and upside-down. He glared at nothing and sighed.

Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were still bending over the cage with the Pygmy Puffs, Ginny cooing delightedly as they purred loudly under her attention while Mrs. Weasley smiled, seemingly amused at her daughter's actions. Mr. Weasley was delightedly examining a pack of muggle marked playing cards, taking each card out of the pack and giving it the same attention as he had the last, and Fred and George were both busy aweing and entertaining their vast amounts of customers who seemed to have suddenly swarmed around them. Outside on the other side of the glass window stood Hagrid. He was guarding the entrance of the shop with his back facing the door and he searching the deserted streets of Diagon Alley with a fixed and unwavering attention. Harry sighed, it would be too easy to sneak out and he almost felt sorry for doing it. "Get under here, quick." Harry whispered while trying to pull his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag without being caught by any of the guards or the wandering eyes of the shoppers that were watching the three teenagers gathered by the window and ignoring the wonderful shop full of pranks around them with interest.

"Oh. I don't know, Harry." Hermione bit her lip nervously and looked uncertainly toward Mrs. Weasley, but Ron only rolled his eyes and nudged her with his shoulder before he ducked under the cloak with Harry. It took a few more moments of urging on Harry and Ron's parts but after another long moment of hesitation Hermione joined them under the cloak and smiled shakily at them. She was nervous about the thought of leaving the protection of the Order's guard and she no doubt hated the thought of wondering blindly around Diagon Alley, but she'd chosen to come anyway. Harry loved his friends, even with all their faults and his faults they still matched together perfectly. Harry was starting to feel guiltily about pushing her into joining him and Ron in the first place, he would never want her to do anything she felt uncomfortable with, but before he could offer her any comfort or suggest she stay behind and cover for them Ron had started to walk towards the door, forcing Harry and Hermione to follow him if they hoped to keep the Invisibility Cloak successfully covering them.

Nobody noticed them vanish; they were all too interested in Fred and George's products, which was something Harry was endlessly grateful for as he, Ron, and Hermione quietly edged their way out of the door and around Hagrid's large bulk as quickly as they could. They slipped outside and onto the main street of Diagon Alley without a fuss, but by the time they'd reached the end of the street Draco had disappeared just as successfully as they had. "He was going in that direction." Ron muttered, glaring down the dimly lit stone alleyway. "C'mon." He said and Harry and Hermione scurried along after him, peering left and right into the passing shops windows and open-hinged doors and the tiny side alleys that sometimes diverted off from the main street. They continued on like this for what felt like forever to Harry, until Hermione gasped and pointed ahead.

"There." She whispered. "That's him there, isn't it?" She asked, though she was looking more at Harry then she was at Ron and Harry gulped, feeling suddenly venerable and very uncomfortable as she continued to stare at him. "Turning left at the end of the street. That is him, isn't it, Harry?"

But it was Ron who replied, and Harry was thankful for Hermione's attention being diverted onto their red haired friend as Ron snorted and said; "big surprise there." And they watched as Draco glanced over his shoulder for any witnesses close enough to identify him, obviously not seeing Harry and his two friends hidden under the Invisibility Cloak a close way away, before slyly slipping into Knockturn Alley and out of sight. _Oh no, Draco. What are you doing here?_ "Quick." Ron whispered. "Or we'll lose him!" _Harry thought Ron was enjoying this a little too much._

"Our feet will be seen!" Hermione fretted as she glanced nervous down to their feet as the cloak flapped around their ankles. It was much more difficult hiding all three of them under the cloak now then it had been when they were in their first year of Hogwarts, Harry even had trouble keeping all of his limbs hidden when it was just him sneaking around.

"It doesn't matter, 'Mione." Harry smiled in what he hoped was a calming manner. "No one will be looking for three pairs of feet wondering around Diagon Alley, but we need to hurry if we don't want to lose Dra – Malfoy." He said. "Come on." But when they reached the entrance of Knockturn Alley, the side street of Diagon Alley that was completely devoted to the Dark Arts, it looked at first glance to be completely deserted. They made their way into the alley however and did the same as they had before, peering left and right into the passing shops windows and rubbing away at layers of dust with their sleeves, grimacing as they brought their hands back under the safety of the cloak to see the grime now coating their robes, but none of the shops seemed to have any customers at all. Harry supposed it would be a bit of a giveaway in these _dangerous and suspicious times_ to go around buying Dark artifacts — or at least, to be seen buying them.

Hermione gave his arm a hard pinch. "_Ouch._" He cried. "'Mione! What the hell was that for?"

"_Shh_. Look. He's in there." She breathed into Harry's ear, her cheek pressed against his. They had drawn level with the only shop in Knockturn Alley that Harry had ever visited, Borgin and Burkes, which sold a wide variety of sinister objects and questionable subject matters. Harry shivered in remembrance of his time hidden in strange cupboard while he spied on Draco and his father as they dealt with Mr. Borgin, the owner of the rather doggy establishment. A reflection of blonde caused Harry's thoughts to freeze. There. In the midst of the cases full of animal skulls and old bottles and the shelves that stood from the floor to the ceiling, filled with books with broken binds and dusty artifacts that Harry doubted even Mr. Borgin understood or knew exactly what they did, stood Draco Malfoy. He stood with his back facing towards them and he was only just visible beyond the very same, large black cabinet in which Harry had once hidden in to avoid being found by Malfoy Senior. Judging by animated movements of Draco's hands he was talking quite fast and was very nervous as he did so. Draco had so few tells and even fewer people who knew him well enough to know what they were; Harry wondered if he was even aware of half of them, they mostly seemed like unconscious actions to Harry but he supposed now wasn't the best time to start getting distracted by his thoughts. Mr. Borgin with his slicked back hair and straggly beard and uneven jawline still exactly the same as Harry remembered stood facing Draco with the same hunch to his posture as Harry had seen him bow down to when Lucius Malfoy had entered his shop. He seemed to be carefully listening to whatever it was Draco was saying and he was wearing a curious expression somewhere in-between mingled resentment, and fear.

"If only we could hear what they're saying." Hermione said, frowning in obvious disappointment. Ron nodded in agreement but Harry remained silent before jumping in startled surprise as Ron made a sudden, loud, excited sound.

"_Shh!_" Both he and Hermione whispered in as close to a shout as they could get away with and they both glared at Ron with twin looks of annoyance, but Ron was too busy grinning like an idiot to take any notice.

"Sorry, sorry. But we can. We can hear what they're saying." Ron said excitedly, though thankfully he kept his voice lowered in what Harry guessed was as close to a near-whisper as Ron could get. "Hang on. Ow. _Damn_." Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry arched his eyebrow at her in return, and they shared a dubious look over the top of Ron's head. Harry smirked just a little as he watched Ron drop a couple more of the boxes he was still clutching in his large hands before he knelt down on the dirty, grime-covered floor to shift through their contents. He come to a stop when he fumbled with his arm elbow-deep in the largest box. "Extendable Ears." Ron said excitedly. "Look!"

Hermione's face beamed as he presented Fred and George's improved invention while Harry's smirk stretched that little bit further across his lips. "Oh. This is fantastic, Ron. You're brilliant!" Hermione said as they watched Ron unravel the long, flesh-coloured strings before he began to carefully feed them toward the bottom of Borgin and Burkes closed shop door. "Oh. I hope the door isn't Imperturbable." Hermione whispered.

"It shouldn't be, or people wouldn't be able to get inside the shop." Harry mumbled, though he too was worried about the thing. Hermione hummed her agreement from beside him however and they both watched as Ron continued to fiddle with the small device.

"It isn't Imperturbable." Ron said gleefully. "Listen!" They put their heads together to listen to the ends of the flesh-coloured strings, through which Draco's voice could now be heard loud and clear as if a radio had just been turned on, and Harry's heart ached a little (read: a lot) at the sound of it.

"…_you know how to fix it?"_

"_Possibly_." Mr. Borgin said, though his tone suggested he was rather more unwilling to commit himself instead of being unsure in his skills. "_I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?_"

"_Because I_ _can't_ _transport it._" Draco said, his own tone suggesting this was a point in the conversation they'd come back to many times already. "_It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it_." Harry saw Mr. Borgin lick his lips nervously through the dirty shop window.

"_Well_." Mr. Borgin said. "_Without seeing it I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps even impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything you understand–_"

"_No?_" Draco's voice drawled, and Harry knew just by his tone that he was sneering in that sarcastic, smug manner of his when he knew he had the upper hand over the other person. "_Perhaps this will make you more confident then_." Draco moved closer toward Mr. Borgin and was blocked from Harry's view by the cabinet. Harry, Ron, and Hermione shuffled sideways to try and keep him in sight, but all they could see was Borgin looking so very frightened and trembling ever so slightly. "_Tell anyone_." Draco's voice said softly, barely even a whisper and sounding more deadly that Harry had ever heard it. "_And there will most certainly be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback, I presume. He's a family friend." _Draco said, though Harry had never heard him mention a Fenrir before now. "_He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure that you're giving the __problem__ your full attention."_

"_Well. I…there will be no need for…_"

"_I'll decide whether or not that's true_." Draco said, still softly. Somehow it made him seem more threatening, and Harry suddenly realized with a jolt that Draco knew that too. He was playing Mr. Borgin at his own game and winning, but then Harry supposed Draco had had years of watching his father intimidate people to learn from. _Like father like son_, Harry thought. "_Well. I'd best be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll be needing it soon enough_." Draco said.

"_Perhaps you'd like to take it now?_"

"_No. Of course I wouldn't, you stupid, little man. How would I look carrying that down the street? Just __don't sell it__._"

"_O-of course not. Sir_." Mr. Borgin made a bow as deep as the one Harry had once seen him give Lucius Malfoy and he felt his heart ache. What had Draco gotten himself into?

"_Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother. Understand?"_

"_Naturally, naturally_." Murmured Borgin, bowing low again. And then in the next moment the bell over the door tinkled loudly, echoing loudly through the Extendable Ears, as Draco stalked out of the shop looking very pleased with himself. But Harry saw the expression falter for a fraction of a second when the door closed behind him and Draco breathed in a deep breath of fresh air. Draco passed so close to Harry, Ron, and Hermione as he walked past them that they felt the cloak flutter around their ankles again, and Harry could smell the same expensive cologne Draco loved so much on the air long after he'd disappeared down the main street and back onto Diagon Alley. Inside the shop Mr. Borgin remained frozen, his unctuous smile had vanished from his face and he looked worried, almost frightened.

"What do you think that was about?" Ron whispered as he carefully reeled the Extendable Ears back in, making sure not to be seen as he did.

_He wants something mended._ Harry thought, his mind working in overdrive. _And he wants to reserve something within __Borgin and Burkes__. He wants something mending but he couldn't bring whatever the __other thing is __to Mr. Borgin, and taking the one Mr. Borgin has possession of would be too suspicious to carry around. So_ – "I…I'm not sure." Harry said honestly, looking in the direction that Draco had disappeared in. He wasn't sure what Draco had gotten himself mixed up in, but he was sure as hell was going to find out.

–

_Hogwarts Express; Harry James Potter; Sixth-year.  
September 1__st__ 1995._

The corridors of the Hogwarts Express were almost completely empty when Harry made his escape from Professor Slughorn's strange luncheon. Nearly everyone had returned to their carriages to change into their school robes and pack up their possessions as the announcement that they were nearing Hogwarts sounded on the overhead speakers. It had placated him, seeing Blaise. Both of them sharing in the same _what the fuck_ look as Professor Slughorn not so subtly interrogated all of his collected students on their connections and family ties, and as Blaise's fingers had scratched along the inside of his wrist while Harry sat between him and Neville, Harry knew they were all right. _Even if Blaise had killed for him…but was that really such a bad thing?_ Blaise wasn't bored with him. And Harry still wanted him. They were fine. But Harry and Blaise alone were not enough, they needed Draco. Harry needed Draco. So, in-between stolen kisses from Blaise, Harry had been contemplating how to convince Draco that whatever this was that they had was worth fighting for. _He could blame Blaise for at least part of what followed_. It was when Blaise said he needed to leave that Harry had thought following Blaise to the compartment where the rest of the Slytherin sixth-years were waiting was a good plan. And it was a good plan, in his head at least. But unfortunately for Harry his plans rarely ever followed through how he intended them to, as he realized when he was not quick enough to slip into the Slytherin compartment when Blaise opened the door, and he thought that maybe this wasn't the best or brightest plan after all.

Blaise was already sliding the door shut when Harry did the only thing he could think off; hastily sticking out his foot to prevent it from closing. _Which was just proof_, Harry thought, _of why Ron did all the planning_. "What's wrong with this thing?" Blaise said, sounding frustrated. His eyes were rimmed red, which was unsurprising after the grueling luncheon of dull conversation and fake smiles they'd just suffered through together. _He has every right to be annoyed_, Harry thought,_ just preferably not on my foot_. The door was heavy as Blaise keep trying to close it against Harry's invisible foot, and the Italian boy (_he'd only found out Blaise was Italian today from Professor Slughorn of all people, and he felt guilty that he hadn't known this about his…sort-of boyfriend before now_) growled as he repeatedly attempted to slam the sliding door into Harry's foot. Harry tried to not cry out but it was a near thing. And, on Blaise's next attempt to try and close the door, Harry used both of his hands to grip onto the frame of the door and he pushed against Blaise's weight with an excessive amount of force. He pushed hard enough that Blaise, who was still clinging onto the inside door handle, was toppled over sideways into Gregory Goyle's lap with a yelp of surprise. Harry winced in sympathy but he didn't have time to feel guilty as he took his chance to dart into the compartment as the ensuing ruckus successfully diverted everyone's attention away from him. Harry edge around the compartment's Slytherin occupants and leapt up onto Blaise's temporarily empty seat, hoisting himself up into the luggage rack in one swift move. He was thankful in that moment that Goyle was being his usual foul self and that Blaise, being as tired and irritated as he was, was returning the favor effortlessly, because Harry was sure he felt the Invisibility Cloak flapping around his ankles and revealing his feet for one dreadful moment there. And indeed, for that one dreadful moment, he thought he saw Draco's eyes follow his trainers as it whipped upward out of sight. But then Goyle was standing from his seat and pushing Blaise off him with more muttered curses as he walked over to the door and slammed it shut.

Harry glared at Goyle's back as he watched Blaise dust himself down before moving over to reclaim his seat, looking ruffled and more irritated then he had during Slughorn's luncheon. Even Draco was glaring at Goyle with that dangerous glint to his eyes that Harry had only witness a few times in the past few years, but then Goyle was huffing angrily as he collapsed back into his seat and Vincent Crabbe had returned to his comic now the drama was over with, snorting in amusement at each newly turned paged as he did. Pansy Parkinson hadn't even looked up from Draco's face as he laid his head in her lap, something which Harry found he didn't like _at all_. Blaise caught Draco's look and smiled, crookedly on the left side, and nodding once as if to say he was fine. He leaned back into his seat, Blaise eyes closed and his neck arched, and Harry felt and an unknown emotion roll and itch as it crawled under his skin in response. Draco sniggered quietly but otherwise stayed quite as he lay back down across two seats with his head in Pansy Parkinson's lap. Draco looked comfortable and Pansy seemed pleased with his attention, whereas Harry hated both of their expressions and how comfortable they looked in each other's space_. Why wasn't Blaise freaking out about how close they were? She was a little slut, draped all over Draco like he could ever want her. It wasn't right_. Harry curled uncomfortably under his cloak to ensure that every inch of him remained hidden under the cloak, and he managed to stay silent even as he watched Pansy fingers comb through the fine blonde strands of Draco's hair. She smirked as her fingers scratched at Draco's scalp and looked around the compartment as if she was superior to everyone else and that any one of them would have loved to be in her place. Blaise rolled his eyes from his seat directly opposite Draco before returning to his previous position with his eyes closed and his neck arched as he leaned his head back behind against the compartment wall. Harry on the other had took the advantage of knowing no one could see him or judge him for it and glared at the pug-faced girl. If only his eyes really reflected the Killing Curse like Blaise had once told him, or if only his Animagus form was a Basilisk, then maybe looks really could kill.

The lanterns swinging from the carriage ceiling were casting such a bright light over the scene of the compartment that Harry could read every word of Crabbe's comic below him and see every shift and change of the Slytherin's expressions as they spoke. "So. Blaise." Draco's voice sounded as tired as Harry felt, and Harry watched as he yawned with a hand covering his mouth before he continued. "What did Slunghorn want, then?"

"He seemed to be trying to suss out anyone who might be well connected. He spent the entire time asking questions about influential family members and flattering those students that lived up to his expectations." Blaise said, his eyes still closed and sounding as aphetic as he usually did whenever he was in company of other people. _Other people who weren't Draco or Harry_. But he also sounded very close to falling asleep, even as he continued to speak. "Mother did warn me that he likes to collect wizards and witches who he thinks shows promise of amounting to something." He snorted. "Not that he managed to find many in this uncultured lot, of course."

"Oh, but of course." Pansy agreed sarcastically, followed by a tittering, nasal laugh. But Draco didn't join in with her laughter or even look all that pleased with the information Blaise had shared, and he sat up frowning with his head tilted to one side as he looked over at Blaise for a long moment. Blaise didn't open his eyes but Harry though he probably knew Draco was watching him by the way the edges of his lips twitched like he wanted to smile or laugh.

"Who else had he invited?" Draco asked; half-demanded and half-whispered. Blaise did open his eyes then, still sore and red and tired and totally to blame on Professor Slughorn, and he arched his eyebrow in a half-serious mocking look that Harry knew he'd stolen from Draco. Draco rolled his eyes. "_Blaise_." And that was probably the closes thing to a please that Draco would ever ask for in public, though in private he was quite vocal and very open to begging. Harry snorted but managed to muffle the sound his hands, no one seemed to notice. He smiled when he saw Pansy stiffening in response to Draco and Blaise's easy banter. Harry knew for a fact that if anyone else had answered Draco's question the way Blaise just had that the blonde Slytherin would curse the poor sod into the Hospital Wing for three weeks, and he also knew that Draco would never let Pansy get away with acting like that with him whether it was in public or not – and by the way Pansy was glaring over at Blaise she was very much aware of it too.

Blaise rolled his shoulders twice before answering. "McLaggen, from Gryffindor."

Draco hummed. "Of course. His uncle's big in the Ministry, isn't he?"

"–someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw."

"Oh no. Not him!" Pansy sneered. "He's a _prat_!"

"–and then there was Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl. All from Gryffindor of course."

Draco looked up sharply at the sounded of Neville's name. "He invited _Longbottom?_"

"Well, I would assume so. Seeing as he was there." Blaise said, voice carefully dull. Though he seemed to be enjoying Draco's frustration as he made him work for his information. Draco glared over at Blaise but Harry found himself smirking when he realized Blaise was watching Draco with dark, intense eyes that could only ever mean Draco was about to be pushed against a wall and kissed, or maybe pushed to knees with a thumb parting his pale lips for Blaise's cock. _Maybe Harry would watch_.

"What could _Longbottom_ possibly have to be of interest to Slughorn?" Draco asked, but both Blaise and Pansy shrugged. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be excluded from the conversation and Theodore Nott sitting beside Blaise was too interested in his Charms textbook to be paying them any attention. "_Potter_." Draco drawled, and for a moment Harry was worried that he'd been found out, until he realized that Draco was going through the list of names Blaise had given him. "Potter I can understand. It's a rather obvious choice really, and I would have thought less of him if he were to over look him. And of course, who wouldn't want a closer look at the hailed _Chosen One_." Harry hoped the distain he heard in Draco's voice was for the media's new nickname of him and not for Harry himself. "But that _Weasley_ girl! What's so special about _her_?"

"A lot of boys like her." Pansy said, and Harry turned to her in surprise along with Draco and Blaise and they watched as she pretended to check the finish on her pale pastel-pink nail varnish. Harry however noticed that she was slyly watching Draco's reflection in the window for any sort of reaction as she continued to speak. "And of course there's always _Potter_." She said, sneering Harry's name like a curse. "He's always hanging around her and making time for her when she's around. It get's her noticed. Anyone worthy of _precious_ _Potter's_ time must be worth something, even if it's a _Weasley_." Draco and Blaise shared a tight lipped glance that neither Pansy nor Harry missed. "But I suppose she is his best friend's little sister, maybe he feels like he has to make time for her." Pansy said, though her voice definitely sounded more clipped as she spoke now. "Though." She laughed, the sound high-pitched and too loud and totally fake. "You can hardly call Potter and the Weasel best friends anymore, even Granger's started to separate herself from them. But that's hardly the point. Everyone thinks Potter's going to ask her out this year, and she's been sniffing around him like a bitch in heat for years so I doubt she'll turn him down when Potter does ask her." Pansy's green-blue eyes moved to Blaise's tight expression and angry eyes and she smiled nastily at him. "Even you think she's good looking, don't you Blaise? And we all know how hard the great Blaise Zabini is to please!"

Blaise's eyes flashed dangerously and Harry's breath hitched in response. Draco's eyes to seemed to flicker up to him for a fraction of a second, but they were gone again before Harry could really be sure. "I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like." Blaise spoke so coldly and in a tone of voice that Harry had never heard from him before, he wasn't sure if he should be worried for Ginny's safety or turned on, but apparently it was the answer that Pansy had been looking for and she leaned back into her seat looking pleased. She nodded once, resuming combing her fingers through Draco's hair when he lay back across her lap with an expression one might almost mistake for peace overcoming his sharp features.

"Well." Draco drawled, his eyes focused on the ceiling of the compartment and tracing against the cracks in the paint with intense silver-grey eyes. His voice didn't quite manage to pull off nonchalant, but Harry thought that was probably because he'd spent so long study every shift of his body and change to his voice over the years. "I pity Slughorn's taste." He said, and Harry agreed if only for different reasons. "Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame. Father always said he was a good wizard in his day. He used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or he's probably waiting until–"

"I wouldn't bank on an invitation, Draco." Blaise said, frowning. "He asked me about Nott's father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently. But when he heard he'd been caught at the Ministry this summer, he didn't look happy. And Nott didn't get an invitation, did he?" He nodded at Theodore who suddenly looked far more interested in his Charms textbook then before. "I don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters." Draco looked angry as he stared at Blaise, and while Blaise still wore that same infuriating apathetic expression his eyes seemed to mirror Draco's anger in equal amounts. It was strange to see them at odds with each other, and it was certainly the first time that Harry had witnessed them even close to arguing, but then Draco had smoothed his expression into a forced smile and he laughed softly as he turned away from Blaise's dark, judging eyes.

"Who cares what Slughorn's interested in?" Draco said, and Harry felt his eyebrows rising in answer because obviously Draco had been expecting the usual special treatment his family name afforded him from their new professor. "What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher." Draco yawned, purposely ostentatious, and Harry could see more of Draco's practiced Malfoy masks being applied – one on top of the other. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, so what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?" Draco said, and Harry felt his heart lurch beneath the fragile protection of his skin. _It felt like his heart might break_.

"What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" Pansy asked, her voice still too high and her voice indignant. Her fingers ceased in grooming through Draco's hair and for once, for probably the first and only time ever, Harry completely agreed with her.

"Well, you never know." There was the merest hint of a ghost of a smirk on Draco's face now, and Harry just knew he was loving all of this attention focused upon him. _Such a whore for attention and drama_, Harry thought. "I might have…" Draco paused here, and while it was almost impossible to catch it Harry still saw the fear that flashed through his eyes, "…I might have moved on to bigger and better things." Harry wondered if he knew that that was a muggle staying or not but his thoughts didn't linger on that for too long. He was still crouched uncomfortably in the luggage rack under his cloak, his heart was beginning to race uncomfortably and his face and chest were feeling too hot under the cloak. He wondered what Ron and Hermione would say if he told them about Draco's conversation. _Would they finally listen to his theories now? Would they finally believe him now?_ He paused. _But did he want to tell them?_ He remembered back to the feeling of raw, open wounds when Ron turned his back on him in their fourth year, siding with the rest of the school when they called him a cheat and a liar and a dark wizard in training. He remembered back to the deep hurt that had ached all the way to his heart whenever Hermione would flinched if Harry suddenly appeared by her side during the Chamber of Secrets incident. He remembered the way Ron's eyes still flickered with jealously whenever Harry's wealth was mentioned or showed in front of him, and he remember the irritation he felt whenever Hermione huffed and refused to talk to him if he scored better than her on a test, and he decided no, he didn't want to tell them anything about Draco or Blaise. Because Pansy had been right about one thing, _the one thing neither he or Ron or Hermione had dared to utter out loud_, The Golden Trio hadn't been golden for a long time now.

When Harry's attention focused back on the compartment it was to find Crabbe and Goyle were openly gaping at Draco, Theodore had glance up from his Charms textbook and was looking at him in a mixture of disbelief and wonder, and Blaise had arched an eyebrow but otherwise showed no sign that he was surprised. Pansy had resumed slowly combing her fingers through Draco's hair with her nails scratching against his scalp occasionally, but even she looked dazed. "Do you mean–" Pansy licked her lips and lowered her voice as if she was afraid of being heard through the closed door and Silencing Spell Theodor had weaved around the compartment. "Do you men, _Him_?" Draco shrugged.

"Mother wants me to complete my education, but I don't see it as all that important these days." Draco said. "I mean, think about it. When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone's got? Of course he isn't. It'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown, the–"

"And you think you'll be able to do something for him?" Blaise asked him, scathingly. He looked as annoyed as Harry felt. _Because Draco's sprouting Death Eater propaganda and sounding like a good little Voldemort-follower. Draco, what have you gotten yourself into?_ "Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"

"I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be _qualified_ for." Draco said quietly, his silver-grey eyes watching the darken scenery past by the window and his frown deepening even as he spoke so confidently about what Voldemort did and didn't want from him. It sent a cold chill through Harry's veins and straight to his heart. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to have evolved from gaping and where now watching Draco pale faced and wide eyed, Theodor was staring at Draco in a mixture of disbelief and wonder and Pansy was gazing down at Draco as though she'd never seen anything so awe-inspiring. Blaise however, with his intense dark eyes and lips pulled down into a frown, looked like he wanted nothing more than to punch Draco in the face. "I can see Hogwarts." Draco said, nudging his chin to point out of the blackened window of the compartment and clearly relishing in the effect he had created in his fellow Slytherins. "We'd better get our robes on." He said.

Harry mind was left in a daze after that, _what was Draco playing at?_, and he didn't even hear the door closing behind Pansy as she left the compartment so the boys could get dressed. He was so busy staring at Draco's pale chest as he unbuttoned his shirt, watching as Draco gazed at Blaise standing across from him unbuckling his leather belt with sure, quick fingers that he didn't even notice Goyle reaching up for his trunk with his fat, meaty hands. If he had been paying attention he would have probably been ready to duck out of the way as Goyle swung his trunk down, but he'd been more busy staring at a half dressed Draco and a Blaise hands, so he wasn't prepared and the result was the heavy trunk hitting Harry hard on the side of the head. He let out an involuntary gasp of pain and Draco looked up at the luggage rack again, looking directly at him and frowning.

Harry was not afraid of Draco, but he wasn't stupid enough to not be wary of him either. He didn't much like the idea of being found sneaking around and spying under his Invisibility Cloak by a group of unfriendly Slytherins, but he trusted Draco enough to not want to hurt him. _But_. He couldn't help but wonder if Draco still cared for him, if he was still safe with Draco, if Draco still _wanted _him safe…Harry, being very careful not to disarrange the Invisibility Cloak wrapped around him, slowly withdrew his wand from the dragonhide hostler on his right arm that Tonks had bought for him two Yule's ago. His eyes were watering from the pain and bleeding wound on the side of his head and his heartbeat was thumping loudly against his temples, but he could do nothing but hope and wait, breath held. To his relief however Draco's silver-grey eyes turned away from him and Draco seemed to decided that he'd just imagined the noise Harry had made, continuing to change out of his expensive robes and into his finely-made school uniform along with the other Slytherin boys in the compartment. Draco locked his trunk with a tap of his wand that emitted small blue sparks, and as the train slowed to a jerky craw he fastened a new charcoal-brown fur travelling cloak around his shoulders with a sharp snap of the black cobra pendant against his neck. _He looks every bit the Pureblood_, Harry thought, but he wasn't sure if it was in disgust or acceptance or what anymore. _Draco and Blaise had changed him, changed the way he thought and the way he saw the world. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing_.

Harry could see the corridors starting to fill up outside of the glass panel of the compartment door and he could only hope Ron and Hermione would realize he wasn't going to show up in time before the Hogwarts Express come to a stop at Hogsmeade and that they'd take his trunk with them to the castle. He had a bad feeling that he was going to be stuck here for a little while yet, at the very least he was going to be stuck here until the Slytherin's all emptied out of the compartment, and he didn't want to have to worry about chasing up after his magically enlarged trunk and the few possessions that he couldn't fit into it. Soon after, with one final lurch and wheeze of the engine, the train came to a complete stop. Not two seconds after Goyle had thrown the door open and muscled his way out into a crowd of second years with Crabbe following shortly after him and Theodor slipped out quietly after them, leaving Draco, Blaise and the ever irritating Pansy behind. The two stood around in a mostly comfortable silence as they waited for Draco to finish whatever final preparations Draco deemed necessary for himself, but then Draco was turning to them with a charming smile and a strange look in his silver-grey eyes. _That should have been Harry's first clue really_. "You two go on." Draco told Pansy, though he was looking at Blaise when he spoke. Blaise narrowed his eyes slightly, obviously (to Harry and Draco) still annoyed with Draco's earlier _I'm moving on to bigger and better things_ speech, but he nodded his head anyway, once, and more of a sharp jerk then a nod really. "I just want to check something."

Blaise and Pansy left the compartment with little fuss, Blaise with one last suspicious look and Pansy being manhandled out into the corridor by Blaise. Harry could hear her complaining loudly at Blaise's treatment and he didn't bother to try and stop the smirk that pulled at his lips when he heard her half-whined words of _Blaise, stop, you're hurting me_. Her words faded quickly but Harry realized Blaise's strong grip on her elbow was probably his revenge for her flirting with Draco in front of him, and somehow it made Harry feel better to see her in pain too. And then it was only an invisible Harry and silent Draco left alone in the compartment. Outside people were filing past the closed door, descending onto the dark platform in a rush of noise and laugher and Harry almost smiled. Until that is, he heard the lock on door snap shut. Draco had moved over to the compartment door and before locking it he had let down the blinds so that people in the corridor beyond could not peer in and Harry, still invisible but suddenly feeling so very venerable, could no longer peer out. Harry gulped.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to spy?" Draco asked, leaning against the locked compartment door and smirking right at Harry, as if he weren't wearing Invisibility Cloak at all. Briefly Harry wondered if Draco had learnt to look through Invisibility Cloaks, but he quickly dismissed that thought. No, Draco was just smart and observant enough that Harry's unplanned sneak-in hadn't fooled him. Harry thought he would have probably been disappointed if it had. He sighed, no longer worrying about staying hidden and shrugged off the cloak. He didn't move from his uncomfortable position just yet but he did arch his back and let out a small moan when his spine clicked.

"I'm pretty sure my aunt told me something like that once." Harry said in answer. Draco sneered.

"Yes, and we all know how proficient your guardians are, don't we?" Draco said, his silver-grey eyes hot with anger and his eyes seemed to find the half-healed skin of his broken lip and the yellow, fading bruises that circled his throat. "You're going to see Madam Pomfrey tonight, then?" He asked in a softer voice and Harry nodded. "Why didn't you write me? Or Blaise?"

"I figured you had enough to deal with." Draco didn't answer, but Harry saw the tick in jaw and the anger in his eyes and knew that he was right – this summer hadn't been easy for either of them.

"You should have still written." Draco whispered, in the softest of whispers that even Harry as close as he was to him almost missed it. But then Draco was changing the subject completely before Harry had a chance to reply. "I heard Goyle's trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Blaise came back." Harry nodded, a little sheepish. Draco's eyes flickered down to the scuffed, white trainers and oversized clothes he wore from the Dursley's (it would never do for them to know his bank account holdings or the clothes he usually wore) before they flickered up to Harry's face with half-smile as their eyes caught. Green and silver, just like the Slytherin tie Draco wore.

"I guess I just wanted to see how the other half lived." _Really, Harry? What sort of lie was that? You can do better then this. You've spent your whole life lying. What's wrong with you?_

"You could have just asked." Draco said, and while Harry wanted to say that no, he couldn't have just asked, he made himself smile widely instead as if he believed the lie and nodded. Draco step forward then, holding a hand out to help Harry down from the luggage carriage and asking him why he thought that was a good place to hide as he gently touched the bleeding wound on the side of his head. Harry swallowed nervously and tried not to cry as Draco's fingers ghosted down his face and pressed against his bottom lip.

"Draco. I'm sorry, for your father. I–"

"_Don't_." Draco wasn't smiling anymore. His silver-grey eyes weren't warm and worried but cold and shut off, and for that single fraction of a second Draco's expression was the closest thing to hate that had been directed at Harry in years. And then he seemed to cave into himself and he let out a half-sob as he rested his head on Harry's shoulder. "My father. He – he shouldn't have been there." Draco whispered, and Harry's hands hesitated and shook even as he pressed them against Draco's back to hold them closer together. "He shouldn't have gotten us messed up in this stupid war. He should have stayed out of it, begged himself neutral and run away. But Grandfather was obsessed with the young Dark Lord, and when he asked he happily pledged his son's life to _the cause_. And my father, he is Abraxas Malfoy's son through and through." Harry didn't want to imagine it, but all he could think about was a wand pressed to pale flesh, of a high-pitched scream and a broken voice begging for it to stop, of a skull and a snake inked onto Draco's forearm. Harry closed his eyes and held onto Draco a little tighter. "Father knows about you. I – I've spoke to him about you, about Blaise, about you and Blaise." Draco said. "He knew, and he shouldn't have been there. He shouldn't have gone. He shouldn't have been foolish enough to get caught – and I know I should hate you for it. Merlin knows I've tried. I spent the summer trying to convince myself that it was all your fault, but it's not. It's his. He made choice, and he's force me into making mine." Draco's eyes became sad then, and he almost sounded angry with himself as he admitted that he couldn't blame Harry, and when Draco pulled out of Harry's embrace Harry was sure he was going to punch him or scream or cry. But he didn't. Instead he took Harry's face between his hands and pressed what was probably their softest kiss to date against his lips, more of a press of lips than a real kiss. "I don't blame you." Draco whispered. "It's not you're fault. So please, _please_, don't apologize." He said. "I'm sorry that you lost you're godfather, and that I wasn't there to comfort you when you needed me too. And I'm sorry that I'm grateful that my father is still alive. So please, don't apologize for me because I'm a selfish prat and my father is a coward. Don't apologize for _anything_. Please. Just – _just stay here with me_." Lips pressed against his again and this time there was a gentle pressure and little licks pressed against the soft flesh of Harry's bottom lip. "Stay here with me, just for a little while."

–

_Hogwarts; Draco Lucius Malfoy; Sixth-year.  
September 4__th__ 1995._

Surprise.

Pleasure.

Shock.

_Beautiful, they were so beautiful_. He felt so much so suddenly that he could do nothing but watch them as they moved together. Wanting. Lust. Possession. _Merlin_, these emotions were suffocating him from the inside out. This need of his, _his need to touch them and to feel their skin pliant and sleep-warm under his hands_, it would surely kill him. They would be the death of him. But maybe he would enjoy death if they were the ones to bring them to death's waiting arms. "Merlin, you're so beautiful." He whispered.

A laugh, rich and deep and deliciously hoarse and so – _mine_. "Who, me or Harry?"

"Both of you. _Merlin_. Both."

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Sixth-year.  
__November 21__st__ 1995._

It was the sound of glass braking that drew Harry's attention to the strange muffled noises and what might have been a struggle. The legs of a table made a high-pitched whine as it was scratched against the marble-stone floor of the library, the sound of a chair falling over was both loud and startling, but not as much as the sound of books being thrown to the floor in a flutter of pages and heavy slams. Madam Prince would have their heads if she found out they were disrespecting the schools books in such a way. Maybe he was just looking for an escape from researching and homework assignments, or maybe he was just feeling genuinely nosey, but either way in the end it was Harry's Gryffindor curiosity that got the better of him. He stood from the shadowed corner at the back of the library with his wand drawn and tapping against his thigh in a uneven beat as he head off in search for the strange noises. Harry genuinely didn't mind the library under normal circumstances, but he was starting to feel like he lived in the library recently and his near constant headaches had grown into migraines and the words of his assignments had, on more than one occasion, swam right off the parchment and rearranged themselves. He sighed. Sixth-year was supposed to be a break in-between their Ordinary Wizarding Level's and their fast up-coming Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test's, but instead they were spending all of their free time completing a double set of assignments for their professors and researching up on old theory papers in the hopes of gaining an advantage on what to concentrate the little study time they had left on. It was all hopeless of course, and while Harry had scored well enough on his Ordinary Wizarding Level's to move on in all the subjects he'd wanted to, he was admittedly very nervous for his Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test's. So, as the sensible and mature almost-adult Harry was, he took his excuse for an escape happily and when off to search for the culprit of the strange noises. But, when Harry did find the source of the strange noises he couldn't help but gasp. Though unsurprising the two lovers didn't seem to hear him.

Shock.

Horror.

_Why does this always happen to me?_ Harry thought, using a hand to cover his mouth incase he gasped again and he stepped back into the shadow of the bookcases that went from the floor to the ceiling. This was certainty not what he'd been expecting. At all. A broken lamp lay on the floor with it's flames still burning and licking dangerously close to the books that looked as if they'd been thrown to the floor, their pages bent up underneath them and their spines pinched unnaturally. Harry knew that if Hermione had been in her right mind she would be fretting over the condition of the old books and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, but she was…rather busy at the moment. And rather _not in her right mind at all_ and Harry didn't know where to look other than away from his half-naked friend.

[_There's a hand under Hermione's knee, forcing her leg to bend with her foot flat against the table. Another hand with ink-stained fingers is wrapped around the pale flesh of her inner thigh, holding her in a grip that bruises the skin under his fingers, and he pushes her legs further apart in quick, harsh movements. The hands touching her are dirty, yellowed and unwashed and stained with splashes of potions and inks, but Hermione moans as those same hands manipulate her body to how he sees fit; forcing her hips forwards to meet the chant of his hips, the hand on her thigh bringing her leg over his shoulder, teeth biting into her neck until she's forced to arch her back as she struggles for breath. She chokes as she tries to swallow, and she cries when realizes she can't open her airways enough no matter how desperately or loudly she gasps. Hermione's school shirt is completely undone, falling off one shoulder but tangled under her armpits. Her bra is unhooked and her breast bounce a little each time he fucks back into her. Her robes and the navy-black oxford cardigan her mother makes her pack each year have been thrown to the floor next to his teachers robes and Hermione's right hand fists her crumpled Gryffindor tie while her other hand is fisting and pulling at his hair as he fucks her over one of the library's many desks. Her skirt is rolled and pushed up under her bare breast and her red lace-panties that match her bra are hanging limply from her right ankle. She's still wearing her black garter belt and sockings, and the new black shoes she started wearing this year with the slight heel are undone but still on her feet. Her hair is wild and hanging limply down her back as she moans fragments of words that trail off on the ends of broken breaths, 'yeses' and 'merlins' said in half-screams with slurred phrases that hardly make any sense; likethat, nofaster, fuckpleaseplease. But he holds her there, breaths a chuckle against the arch of her throat and he seems to enjoy it when she starts sobbing and begging louder for him, for more, for harder. He stares the way her lips fall open in a scream, with only a broken half-whine escaping her throat, and he presses lips and teeth against the blush that reaches down to her chest and breasts. He bites and her suckles against her soft skin and breaths harshly against her as he tells her what a tease she is, how he wanted to fuck her behind his office door while her classmates completed their assignments, how he might just have to assign her a few detentions so he can punish her probably. His hips jerk a litter faster now, out of control and slap crudely against hers. There are goosebumps rising up against Hermione's arms as his dirty fingers pinch at her nipples and his teeth suckle a mark against her neck. You're mine, no one else gets to touch you now. His dirty hands are playing her with, scratching with long nails against her ribs and along the curve of her breast, leaving red raised marks and blood as he follows imaginary lines down to her navel and then past it until he reaches the short curls of her –_]

Harry doesn't think he'll be able to look at Hermione without blushing ever again. He turns on his heel and creeps back to his table as quietly as possible, wanting nothing more than to forget this whole thing ever happened, but he's not quick enough it seems because Hermione's suddenly half-screaming as she cums and her lover's grunting as if he's in pain before catching his weight on the table as he almost crushes her. They share a smile and a kiss that is slow and deliberate and familiar in a way that Harry realizes hints a long affair between them. Harry walks away, not wanting to intrude any more than he already has, but again, he's not quick enough to miss the loving words they share between giggles and gasping breaths.

"_You're beautiful, Severus_."

"_And you, my love, are delusional still._"

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Sixth-year.  
__October 28__th__ 1995._

Something Professor Dumbledore had said to him during this second year had always caused Harry to wonder; "_It's a shame you had to see him on a burning day." Professor Dumbledore had said, seating himself behind his desk and steepling his fingers under his chin. "He really is very handsome most of the time." He'd smiled, still watching Harry with his strange blue eyes that twinkled unnaturally behind his half-moon glasses. "He has such a wonder array of red and gold feathers that decorate his plumage. And his songs, I've seen him bring grown men to tears with his soft croons more than once." There was a pressure building in his head and Harry had frowned, staring at the ugly, wrinkled bird and trying to imagine the magnificent creature Dumbledore was describing to him while also unable to grasp his thoughts that questioned why his head hurt. He hadn't been able to question anything, so he'd ignored it thinking it was just for now. "They're fascinating creatures, Phoenixes." Dumbledore had said. "I shall tell you a little bit about Fawkes, Harry. Perhaps most unbelievable considering his size is that he is able to carry immensely heavy loads that far surpass his own weight. His tears have unique healing powers, mythed to be able to bring a man on the brink of death back to life. And, he has the ability to alter ones emotions and personality for a short period with only there song." Fawkes let out a soft croon then and Harry had found himself involuntarily smiling. Dumbledore almost seemed to smirk at him for a moment. "They also make highly faithful pets."_ It was only when Professor Snape started training him in Occlumency that Harry really started to question many of his interactions with the manipulative old Headmaster. Just how much had he been controlling Harry? And, that day as Harry stared in horror as Fawkes burned, who was the pet that Dumbledore spoke so fondly of? Fawkes, who trilled happily as his feathers were stroked, or Harry, who ran off into dangerous situations with nothing more than a pat on the back and a well done whispered in his wake? Harry frowned. He didn't like this game the Headmaster was playing with his life, he was no one's pawn – he was no one's fool.

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Sixth-year.  
__December 12__th__ 1995._

Harry couldn't see Ron or Hermione when he climbed through the portrait hole to join the Gryffindor celebration party, which was in full swing by the time he arrived. He wondered if it was a bad thing that he didn't find himself wanting to look for them, or that he wasn't surprised by their absence – maybe that was the real problem. "Harry!" Renewed cheers and energetic clapping from the rest of his housemates greeted his appearance, and he soon found himself surrounded by a mob of people each as eager to congratulate him as the next. Harry made sure to smile charmingly, the smile that Draco loved so much, and laughed as the Weasley twins entertained everyone with a greatly exaggerated play-by-play of the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game that had ended with Harry's free-fall catch that he'd managed to pull out off with his toes scrapping against the dirt and grass of the Quidditch pitch lawn.

After twenty or so minutes and three Butterbeers Harry managed to finally shake off the insistent Creepy brothers and escape from Romilda Vane (who hinted heavily that she was still waiting for him to invite her to Slughorn's Yule Party) and her gaggle of annoying friends who couldn't seem to do anything but giggle if he was in the immediately vicinity. Harry still hadn't been able to find Ron or Hermione, but as he was ducking away from the party and heading over the drinks table for a fourth Butterbeer he ended up walking straight into Ginny. Arnold the Pygmy Puff was riding on her shoulder and Crookshanks mewed hopefully at her heels; it was actually a rather amusing sight. "Looking for Ron?" Ginny asked after Harry had made sure she was standing all right on own after he'd almost toppled her over. Ginny smirked. "He's over there." She said, her eyes flashing off to the right of where they were standing, brown eyes glinting victoriously as she did. "The filthy little hypocrite." Harry frowned, looking over into the shadowed corner where Ginny had indicated and he felt his eyebrows rising in surprise. Because there in the full view of the entire Gryffindor Tower sat Ron, his large freckled hands palming Lavender Browns thighs and the curve of her arse as she straddled his waist and held fists of his hair as they kissed. "It looks like he's eating her face, doesn't it?" Ginny said, rather gleefully Harry thought. Harry nodded his head, because she was right. Ron did look like he was trying to eat Lavenders face, and he wondered if he'd looked anything as amusing as Ron seemed to him in that moment as he tried to kiss Lavender back with as much passion as she was giving him. He wondered if he'd looked anything as amusing as Ron did if their had been any on lookers during his first, tearful kiss with Cho Chang…or his second with Draco, or his third and fourth with Blaise. He wondered – "But." Ginny said. "I suppose he's got to refine his technique somehow." She sighed, tucking a piece of her red hair ear and flinging her long, messy plait over her shoulder before grinning up at him. She looked at with brown eyes and a strange look in her eyes that was quickly replaced by a smug half-smirk. "Good game, Harry."

"Hu? Oh." Harry forces his expression from surprised to amused and he smiles down at her, watching in interest as her cheeks blossom in a dark red that outshone her Weasley hair and matched more closely to the Gryffindor red. His mind is suddenly thrown back to the train ride at the beginning of the year and Pansy's words as she described Ginny: _And of course there's always Potter. He's always hanging around her and making time for her when she's around. It get's her noticed. Anyone worthy of precious Potter's time must be worth something, even if it's a Weasley_. "Yeah. You too, Gin. You did great." She returned his grin and patted him on the arm as she passed him, picking up another cup from the punch-mix on her way towards Dean. It upset him sometimes, how far he'd let his friends drift away from him, but it was also something he'd come to accept – that he just wasn't as close to them as he used to be. Something nudge his foot, startling him out of his thoughts, and he looked down to see Crookshanks trotting after Ginny as she crossed the common room, his yellow eyes fixed firmly upon Arnold the Pygmy Puff and totally uncaring for any of the feet he had to climb over in his helpless longing for poor Pygmy Puff. Harry snorted.

"_Oh my_." Harry turned to look at Hermione when he heard her gasp and saw her standing beside him with a hand covering her mouth. With the way her cheeks were rounded and her eyes shined Harry assumed she was stuck like he was between shock and amusement. "I, well – I mean." Hermione's hair, which had long since been tamed with daily concoctions of Potions and spells was drawn up in a messy ponytail and looked wild and tangled in a way that was more familiar to the eleven year old girl he'd first meet on the Hogwarts Express looking for Neville's toad. Harry could tell by the pelts in her skirt that it wasn't sitting on her hips right and the buttons of her shirt were done up one too high. But Harry didn't comment on her appearance, instead sharing an amused smile with Hermione and listening as she gave a very un-Hermione-ish giggle. "I definitely wasn't expecting that." Hermione said. "Though Lavender has been awfully curious about Ronald in the dormitory recently. I think this is probably the most she's ever spoken to me _since we started Hogwarts_." Harry snorted, arching his eyebrow over at Hermione before joining her in laughing helplessly.

He cast his gaze around the room and found Neville, sitting on the armchairs by the fire with Seamus and talking excitedly with the Weasley Twins, and he found Ginny standing close by, encircling her arms around Dean's shoulders with a happy smile as she stood on the tips of her toes to give him a kiss. He found Romilda Vane staring after him lustfully and shivered. Hermione was still standing beside him, but her eyes were distantly and she was fingering the flushed mark against her collarbone with a little smile playing on her lips. Harry resisted the urge to shiver again knowing who had put it there but he couldn't seem to stop himself from smiling. Because, in this single moment everything was perfect. It didn't matter that the war was still coming for them. It didn't matter that Voldemort was out there planning and murdering his way through their society. It didn't matter that the Golden Trio wasn't so golden anymore. It didn't matter that Harry spent more time in the Slytherin dorms than in his own or that Hermione regularly snuck off to fucked their potions professor. _None of it mattered_. Because, in that single moment everyone was happy. Giddy from too much Butterbeer and warm from the fire that burned away in the far corner, and for once in his life Harry felt content with how his life had played out. He'd worry about the real problems tomorrow. Or maybe the day after.

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Sixth-year.  
__December 25__th__ 1995._

Snow was swirling against the icy windows and lighting struck the sky without thunder on the night of Professor Slughorn's Yule Party. Hagrid had already singlehandedly delivered the usual twelve trees to the Great Hall and had brought another one for Professor Slughorn party; garlands of holly and tinsel had been twisted around the banisters of the stairs; everlasting candles glowed with green and red flames from inside the helmets of suits of armor that lined the hallways; and great bunches of mistletoe had been hung at intervals along the corridors. Large groups of girls had taken to converging underneath the mistletoe bunches every time Harry passed, which had caused great blockages in the corridors more than once and sniggers from his friends (and glares from Draco and Blaise if they caught the debacle as it happened). Fortunately, however, Harry's frequent nighttime wanderings had given him an unusual good knowledge of the castle's secret passageways, so that he was often, without too much difficulty, able to navigate mistletoe-free routes between classes. By the time Slughorn's Yule Party had arrived Harry was able to lead Luna, who'd he brought as his plus one just to get everyone to shut up, to Professor Slughorn's office door without running into anyone else along the way. As they were approaching Slughorn's office door, the sounds of laughter, music, and loud conversation grew louder with every step they took.

But all Harry could seem to think of was that Blaise was waiting for him inside somewhere, and that Draco was off doing whatever it was he did when he wasn't with Harry or Blaise, and that Luna was still talking about how the new Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, was secretly a vampire. Harry sighed, casting his eyes across the room instead. Whether it had been built that way, or because he had used magical trickery to make it so, Professor Slughorn's office was much larger than the usual teacher's study. The ceiling and walls had been draped with emerald, crimson, and gold hangings, so that it looked as though they were all inside a vast tent. The room was crowded and stuffy and bathed in the red light cast by an ornate golden lamp dangling from the center of the ceiling in which real fairies were fluttering around in little crystal-diamond jars, each a brilliant speck of light that reflected in strange and beautiful patterns across the floor. Loud singing accompanied by what sounded like mandolins issued from a distant corner; a haze of pipe smoke hung over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and a number of House Elves were negotiating their way squeakily through the forest of knees, obscured by the heavy silver platters of food they were bearing, so that they looked like little roving tables.

"Harry, m'boy!" Professor Slughorn's voice boomed across the office almost as soon as Harry and Luna had squeezed in through the door. "Come in, come in. There's so many people I'd like for you to meet!" Professor Slughorn was wearing a tasseled, dark navy velvet hat to match his smoking jacket, and Harry tried not to laugh when he spied a pipe sticking out of his potion professor's right pocket. Professor Slughorn gripped Harry's arm so tightly Harry thought he might have been hoping to Disapparate with him, but instead of following through on that welcoming idea (Harry had no idea why or how he'd been convinced to attend) Professor Slughorn instead led him purposefully into the party. Harry seized Luna's hand before he lost her in the thick crowd and dragged her along with him.

"Harry, I'd like you to meet Eldred Worple." Professor Slughorn said. "He's an old student of mine, author of _'Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires_' – and, of course, his friend Sanguini." Professor Slughorn placed his hands on both of Harry's shoulders, turning him to face the two men more firmly, before continuing with a smug little twitch of his mustache. "Eldred, Sanguin,_ this_ is Harry Potter." Worple, who was a small, stout, bespectacled man, grabbed Harry's hand and shook it enthusiastically while the vampire Sanguini, who was tall and emaciated with deep hallows under his purple-shadowed eyes, merely nodded. The vampire looked rather bored, though his eyes flickered often over to the gaggle of girls that were standing close to him, looking curious and excited all at once.

"My word! By I live and breathe. _Harry Potter_. Oh, I am simply delighted!" Worple said, peering shortsightedly up into Harry's face. "I was just saying to Professor Slughorn only the other day, 'where is the biography of Harry Potter for which we have all been waiting?'" Harry blinked in reply, until he felt Professor Slughorn's hands tightening on his shoulders.

"Err…" was his bright reply. "Were you?"

"Just as modest as Horace described!" Worple laughed. "But seriously" – his demeanor changed instantly, becoming businesslike and professional in a fraction of a second — "I would be delighted to write it myself. People are craving to know more about you, dear boy, salivating at the mouth for even the smallest bit more." He said. "If you were prepared to grant me a few interviews, say in four-or-five hour sessions, why, we could have the book finished within months." Harry felt his eyebrows raising, because, _what the fuck?_ "And all with very little effort on your part, I assure you. Just ask Sanguini here if it isn't quite _– Sanguini, stay here_!" Worple said, suddenly stern and obviously displeased, for the vampire had been edging toward the nearby group of girls with a rather hungry look in his eye. "Here, have a pasty." Worple seized a budging pumpkin pasty from a passing elf and stuffed it into Sanguini's hand before turning his attention back to Harry. Harry cast his eyes around the room helpless looking for an escape – Luna was absolutely no help, if anything she seemed to be enjoying the entire thing. "My dear boy." He said, sounded rather too like Dumbledore for Harry's liking. "The gold you could make, you have no idea–"

"I'm definitely not interested." Harry said, firmly. "And I've just seen a friend of mine, sorry." He was hardly sorry, but he smiled sincerely anyway and pulled Luna after him into the crowd for he had indeed just seen a long mane of brown hair disappearing between what looked like two members of the Weird Sisters. The curtains behind them really were a horrible shade of green, the emerald curtains were nice but the pale yellows and lime-greens didn't suit beside each other _at all_. But it wasn't the colour that drew his attention to the sheer material; it was the fluttering of the green curtains that allowed Hermione to find a parting in the material, partially hiding herself behind one of the stone pillars, that really drew his attention. Indeed to any of the onlookers her light green muggle dress blended in perfectly with the dim lights of party, and Harry couldn't help but grin as he headed towards her. "Hermione." Unfortunately, the parting in the curtain that Hermione used was much harder to find then she'd made it seem from across the room, and it took Harry a few moments to find his way through it. "What are you doing?" He asked, hoping the amusement in his voice was less obvious in his whispered tones as he watched her hurriedly try to fix her carefully styled hair that seemed to have collapsed under the heat of the crowed room.

"Harry! There you are, thank goodness. Hi, Luna."

"Hello, Hermione." Luna said, rocking back on her heels and looking just as intrigued by the sheer curtains as she had by the vampire Professor Slughorn had introduced them too a few moments ago. _She was rather strange, but Harry rather liked that about Luna._

"What's happened to you?" Harry asked, for Hermione looked distinctly disheveled, rather as though she had just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil's Snare. (Harry believed himself smart enough to know better than to voice his thoughts aloud however.)

"Oh, well…" Hermione cast her eyes to Luna, who only smiled back and told them that she was going to go a try the mead Professor Slughorn had circling around, and in the next minute she'd drawn two goblins and an old witch into a conversation about the secret conspiracies of the ministry. Harry said nothing, because Luna was a force all upon herself and Harry had a great amount of respect for the younger Ravenclaw girl who honestly just _didn't care_ what anyone thought or said about her. He turned back to Hermione who still looked rather stunned. "Oh." Hermione said after a moment, seemingly remembering that Harry had actually asked a question. "I, I…I've just escaped — I mean, I've just left Cormac." She said. "Under the mistletoe." She added in explanation, as Harry continued to look questioningly at her.

"Serves you right for coming with him, then." He told her, a harsh tone to his voice that he didn't try to cover up. He'd known Hermione would need to pick a suitable cover-up date before the party, he'd had the same issues after all, but when he'd offered for them to go together and save the hassle he'd been rather surprised when she'd told him she'd already been asked by someone else. He said nothing of it at the time and he'd later asked Luna if she wanted to come with his as his friend-date to the Professor Slughorn's Yule Party, but he'd been curious as well. Obviously neither he or Hermione could ask who they really wanted to go with, and Ron was out of the question for Hermione now that he was seemingly permanently attached to Lavender Brown's lips, but when he had found out it was _Cormac_ she was coming to the party with – "I mean, _really_?" Harry asked, allowing some of his horror to show in his voice. "Cormac McLaggen, out of all the bloody people you _could_ have picked why did you go for him?"

"I thought he'd annoy…someone." Hermione paused, glancing at Harry as if she suddenly remember that no, she hadn't yet told him about her relationship with Professor Snape. Of course, she wasn't aware that Harry already knew but that was beside the point. _Harry chose to ignore that he hadn't shared his secret relationship with her either_. "I just thought, he'd annoy _someone_ the most." _If this is a sex thing, I'm going to throw up_, Harry thought. He'd seen more of _Professor_ Snape than he ever wished too that day in the library and he had no wish of a repeat performance, ever. "I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole–"

"You considered _Smith_?" Harry said, revoked.

"Yes, I did, and I'm starting to wish I'd chosen him. McLaggen makes Grawp look a gentleman. He's got more tentacles then a Snarflart Plant!" She said with honest distress in her voice and Harry couldn't help it, he laughed, earning himself a rather painful slap to his upper arm but he found he didn't much care. "Cormac hasn't asked me one single question about myself, no, I've just been treated to 'A Hundred Great Saves Made by Cormac McLaggen' non-stop ever since we got here. Oh no, here he comes!" She moved so fast it was as though she had Disapparated, which Harry of course knew was impossible on Hogwarts grounds thanks to Hermione's many rants on the obscure facts written in Hogwarts, A History that no one but her seemed to actually care about. But, Harry thought, it was probably the best anyone had ever gotten to defying the laws of magic (beside himself); one moment Hermione was standing beside him with her eyes flicking between his face and across the crowd for any sign of Cormac and the next, she had squeezed between two guffawing witches and vanished. Privately, Harry actually thought that was a pretty impressive show of magic in itself.

The sheer curtains parted and fluttered against Harry's feet to revealed Cormac, his brown eyes searching for Hermione but coming up. _No doubt for the hundredth time this evening already_, Harry thought half-amused at the situation Hermione had gotten herself into. "Seen Hermione?" Cormac asked, running a hand through his wiry blonde hair.

"Err." Harry hesitated to come up with a convincing lie. "I think she just went to power her nose." He said. But of course, anyone who actually knew Hermione on even the most informal and basic of levels would have known he was lying, and it was for this reason that Harry felt no guilt for spinning the lie with a carefully masked sneer and a fake smile. Anyone who actually knew Hermione would know that Hermione _powdering her nose_ was so out of her character that they would have called him on it immediately, but Cormac McLaggen rarely registered anyone but himself in his own little fantasy world, and Harry seriously doubted he even acknowledged half of what was happening around him.

"Sneaky little mix, your friend." Harry hummed, turning his face away from Cormac and refusing to comment. His eyes seemed to find Professor Snape's as the potion Master made him way across the room and Harry was glad to note that Professor Snape's glare was, for once, not focused on him. "Well." Cormac said. "See you on the pitch, Potter." And then Cormac was returning to the party with a furious looking Professor Snape following (read: stalking) close behind him. Harry was about to do the same when a pair of hands were suddenly pulling him completely out of view and behind the stone pillar he'd been leaning on since Hermione had left.

"_Shh_." A familiar voice whispered against his ear before he'd even began to struggle, through his wand was already out and digging into Blaise's inner thigh. The Slytherin laughed. "It's just me, I told you I'd find you." Harry could hear the smile in Blaise's voice even before he'd turned around in his arms so he could see his face. A dark eyebrow arched in question and Harry watched as dark eyes flashed dangerously. "Who did you think it was?" He asked, and for a moment Harry thought he recognized that dangerous tone in Blaise's whisper, and he trembled as he realized that he found the dark longing in Blaise's voice almost unbearably arousing. There was a darkness about Draco and Blaise was so suddenly apparent that Harry _couldn't_ ignore it. But instead of backing off or feeling afraid he found himself pressing forward and pressing a kiss to Blaise's parted lips. He _loved_ it, it felt…good. Especially when Blaise whispered his name like that.

"I wasn't sure." Harry whispered against the long arch of Blaise's throat and he was sure Blaise could feel his smile against his skin. Blaise had shaved, which meant no stubble, though Harry found himself missing the sharp drag against his own smooth skin. They ignored the fact that they could be caught or stumbled upon at any moment and Blaise pulled him into a kiss that was more teeth and nails and sharps pulls on his hair than the tender smiles and soft touches they'd shared that morning. _It's such a silly thing to worry about_, Harry thought. _Getting caught, rumors spreading through the halls; he'd lived by everyone else's rules since he arrived in the wizarding world and tonight he decided he just didn't care anymore. What was the point in caring when his life was constantly under threat? Why shouldn't he just enjoy the time he did have and do what ever the fuck he wanted? He cared for so few of the opinions of the party guests anyway, and he very much doubted that other then a few strange looks and a barrage of questions and teasing that anyone who really care anyway_. So, he kissed Blaise back with everything he had and decided to fuck what might or might not happen. But then Blaise's mouth is gone, his face pressed into the soft skin at the base of Harry's neck breathing harshly against his skin and Harry's hand curl against his jaw and cheek. But Blaise was still, unmoving; his hands clenched into tight fist around Harry's new charcoal-black dress robes and the fabric pulls unpleasantly against Harry's chest that is still sensitive from bites and bloodied scratches marks where Draco got a little too – "Draco's been calling out for you in his sleep." Blaise whispered against his collarbone, as if talking any louder would break whatever bubble they'd created around themselves to escape from the party on the other side of the sheer curtains. "I'm not sure if he realizes he's doing it yet." There were not hints of dishonestly or half-truths that the Slytherins' usually used and Harry frowned; Blaise must be really worried about their blonde boyfriend then. Blaise's fingers splayed against his abdomen and Harry gasped quietly when they started tugging at his shirt so he could feel the press of his skin. "It's been happening since we got back to Hogwarts. He's…scared, I think. Scared of loosing you or me or both of us. Though, of course he refuses to admit to anything, and he turns away whenever I try to talk to him about it." Blaise said. "I think he worries I don't approve of his decisions." Harry frowns, a part of him panicked but the rest of him just confused, because why would Draco be afraid of loosing them? _Why_? "But I understand a little more now, after you left this morning and we talk about it. But you, you need to confront him, Harry. You need to allow him to confront you. I, I know it's a lot to ask–"

"No." Harry shook his head. "It's never too much. Not for him. Not for you." _He would do anything for them, though like Draco he refused to admit exactly what that meant out loud._

"I don't think you have any idea of how unselfish you can be, Harry." Blaise smiled against his skin again, and then Harry is being turned so he's pressed against the stone pillar and – _when had Blaise unzipped his pants?_ "So hot like this." Blaise whispers roughly, brokenly, before he's falling to his knees and pushing Harry's thighs further apart – and Harry makes the mistake of looking down, of seeing the push of his half-hard cock against Blaise's cheek, and he groans. The sound is probably too loud, and the sound of it will probably draw too much attention to the strange shadows he and Blaise make's behind the sheer curtains, but Harry finds he doesn't much care when Blaise is on his knees in front of him with Harry's dick in his mouth. Harry shoves up, hard, and the sharp pain of Blaise's nails digging into the stretch of skin over his hips makes him moan again. He felts as if he's already on edge with the warmth of Blaise's mouth barely on him, as if the desperate Fiendfyre of wanting that runs though his veins, through his body and his soul, would consume him if Blaise didn't _move_. And the thing is, anyone could walk in on them, someone could take a picture and send it too the Daily Prophet or try to use it as blackmail material against them, and Harry shouldn't be enjoy the thought of being caught this much. It shouldn't turn him on like this. It shouldn't –

"_Fu-ck_."

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Sixth-year.  
__February 3__rd__ 1996._

Harry doesn't want to open his eyes just yet. He's warm under the thick comforter and he feels safe with the familiar smells of Draco and Blaise filling his every sense. He hums to himself and burrows a little deeper into the sheets that still smell like Draco's sweat and come, and he smiles as he remembers the last night. He remembers the weight of Blaise sitting on his chest to tie his hands to Draco's headboard, using both of their Slytherin ties as restraints. He remembers how bitter Blaise's cum had tasted against his tongue and what the long drag of his cock felt like as Blaise fucked into his mouth. Harry remembers how Draco had smirked before he swallowed around him and he remembers the press of Draco's fingers against his prostrate, rubbing and flicking but never simulating him enough to bring him to orgasm. He remembers pulling at the ties and not caring when the skin pinched and tore. He remembers watching Blaise manipulating and bending Draco over Harry restrained body so his hands were pressed into the mattress on either side of Harry's head, and he vividly remembers how Blaise had looked as he fucked into Draco hard and wide open until he was nearly unconscious and bursting with Blaise's seed. Harry remembers how Blaise had licked the cream spilling down Draco's pale, slender thighs and pushing it back into him before sitting Draco down Harry's flushed cock, urging Harry to fuck up into him as he fisted Draco's over-sensitive cock in his large hand. Harry smiles to himself. But it's the press of fingers against his bruised wrists that have Harry hissing in pain and jerking so he's leaning up on his forearms with his chest raised away from the mattress. He glares sleepily at Blaise who looks apologetic as he stares back. "I'm sorry." Blaise said. "I probably should have realized you'd want to touch last night, and that you might hurt yourself trying to get out. I can get some bruise cream for tonight but – I don't like the thought of you suffering with them today." Fingers pressed against the dark red welts again and Harry does his best to hold still and not wince. "Draco still pretending he's asleep." Blaise whispers, nudging his chin at Draco who's curled around an overstuffed pillow and looking thoroughly fucked out. "But all I really want to do is fuck him again, until he's screamed his voice hoarse and begging so prettily like he did last night. Did you enjoy it, Harry? Our little show…it was all for you, you know."

"I doubt it was all for me." Harry said, breath hitching as silver-grey eyes looked at him from underneath fluttering eyelashes. "But Draco does seem to like to beg." He whispered, hoping to divert the attention away from himself but all that seemed to do was encourage the two Slytherin boys and as Blaise presses himself against Harry's back with a delicious drag of his cock against Harry's still swollen hole as Draco crawls towards him and pulls him into a sleepy kiss – Harry can't help but wonder how he'd managed to wind up with these two beautiful boys wanting him back.

"Thank you for staying." Draco murmured against his lips and Harry can't help but feel surprised. It's not that he doesn't want to stay, but unlike in the Slytherin dorms were it's two students to a room the Gryffindor is a communal room with four other boys that would definitely notice if Harry stopped sleeping in his bed all together, and besides, Harry hadn't been so sure his welcome overstayed into the _morning after_ territory. What they had wasn't love, but it was more then the lustful fumbling's of the fifteen year olds they'd started out as. Still, he can't seemed to stop himself from asking:

"You wanted me to stay?" And both Draco and Blaise look equally shocked at his question, though it's Draco who eventually answers.

"Of course we do. We always have, you prat." Draco said, pushing him onto his back and straddling his naked hips. Blaise chuckles. Though Harry thinks that's probably more so at his surprised face than at the bites and raised scratches that stand out against Draco's pale skin, or the swollen red pucker of Draco's arse that is so full of Harry and Blaise's cum that he's still open and wet with cream running down his flushed inner thighs – Harry can't help but curl a hand around Draco's flank and push the spilt cum back into him. _None of it should go to waste_, _after all_. Draco moans with a delicious hot flush to his cheeks and Blaise lays back against the pillows beside them, seemingly content to watch them for just now. "Stop that. I'm trying to be angry at you." Draco slaps Harry's hands away from him but Harry just grins and pressed a kiss to his chin as he tells him to try and be angry at him with his fingers inside of him. "_Ugh_. _You bastard_." Draco whispered. "We always wanted you to stay. But you're always running off in the middle of night while we're still sleeping." Draco said, and Harry swears that's a pout on his face as Draco frowns down at him. "Your always using _Ron and Hermione_ as an excuse to run off, and even if it's not true I still hate them from stealing your time away from us. I hate that they get to share all of your lessons with you and that they get to eat lunch next you. I hate that they get sit in your horrid, ghastly red common room–"

"–_my common room is not horrid_."

"–and I hate that everyone knows if they want to find you they should look for either of them. Hell, even I look for the Weasel or Granger if I want to find you. And then, even when Blaise and I literally tie you to our bed and _fu-ck_" – Harry finds Draco's prostate pretty easily really – "if we tie you to our bed and fuck you until you can walk straight, even if we tire you out so much that you actually sleep peacefully through the night for once, you're just – you're gone so quickly in mornings that we hardly get to enjoy it."

"Did you really think we didn't want you to stay?" Blaise whispers against his shoulder, his lips dragging against Harry's skin as his very warm chin settles on Harry's shoulder. Harry's fingers flex against Draco's hole and the blonde boy moans loudly, his head dropping against Harry's collarbone as he pants loudly. Blaise's lip twitch up into a smug smile but he doesn't look away from Harry. "It's not right unless you're here with us. It's not just sex for us. This isn't just sex." Blaise said, and his cheek feels incredibly warm against Harry's skin, his stubble strange but not entirely unpleasant, and Harry tilts his head to meet Blaise's parted lips as he works another finger into Draco with very little resistance. "_We want you, Harry_. We thought you understood that, but if we haven't convinced you of that yet then we'll just have to keep proving it too you, again…and again…and again…" Harry feels more than he sees Blaise move against him; a leg wrapping around his own somewhere beneath the covers and Blaise's hands move down his sides with a scratch of dull nails, his lips suckling a mark onto the side of his neck. Draco leans forward, slaying his two hands against Harry's bare chest and meeting Blaise for as a kiss as the other Slytherin crawls down Harry's chest to bit over the sensitive skin of Harry's left nipple. Harry arches up into him on a broke moan of _fuck_. "And again." Blaise whispers. "And we'll just have to keep proving it until you believe us, or until you can't walk. Either one I suppose. Maybe we'll just tie you to our bed and fuck you until all you can think and say are our names."

–

_Hogwarts; Harry James Potter; Sixth-year.  
__March 19__th__ 1996._

It was a few days before Gryffindor's Quidditch match against Hufflepuff and Harry finds himself walking through the hallways alone, again, for the countless time that week. It was becoming something of a familiar pattern and he found himself missing Draco and Blaise's company more than ever. Ron's nerves had yet again gotten the best of him (though Harry supposed the Slytherins' song of _Weasley Is Our King_ didn't help) and he'd dashed off in search of the nearest bathroom stall to empty the contents of his stomach. Hermione had left a few hours previous will an ill-thought-out explanation of wanting to discuss the possibility of extra credit with Professor Snape (which Professor Snape never gave out to anyone; even his Slytherins) before disappearing down to the dungeons. So, as was become usual, Harry was walking the halls aimlessly and alone. He sighed. It wasn't uncommon for any one of them to wander off on their own adventures without the other two anymore, but Harry still couldn't keep himself from wondering when it had gotten so bad that he felt nothing when their companionship wondered off in different directions, or worse, when he had come to expect it.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, though whether it was in answer to his own questions or in some lame attempt to throw his thoughts away he wasn't sure. It was more out of habit than anything else that had Harry making his usual detour along the seventh floor corridor, and it was boredom that had his tugging the Marauder's Map out of his back pocket with a whisper of _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_. For a moment he couldn't seem to find anyone of interest; Ginny and Dean's dot were overlapping in a cupboard on the fourth floor, Hermione was actually with Snape but again their dots were rather closer than usual, Ron was still in the second floor bathroom and Blaise was in his Ancient Runes class in the north tower. He couldn't seem to find Draco anywhere. Harry was almost ready to assume he was in the Room of Requirement, again, but then he spotted Draco's tiny, labeled dot just as he was about to close the map and give up. Draco was standing in the last of the three boys bathroom's on the floor below with the door hovering next to him labeled as, not accompanied by Vincent Crabbe or Gregory Goyle like one might assume, but by Moaning Myrtle. Harry only managed to stop staring at the unlikely couple when he walked straight into a suit of armor. He was sure the look on his face resembled the expression Ron had when he'd been hit over the head with a Bludger, _what Lavender sees in him I'll know_. It was the sound of the armor crashing to the ground that forced him out of his daydreaming, and he sighed before withdrawing his wand and muttering a few spells to fix the damage. It would do for Professor McGonagall or Flinch to come across a scene like that and find out that Harry had just _walked away_. He sighed, but as soon as the suit of armor was fixed he broke into a run and dashed down the marble staircase two at a time, quickly running down the hallway below before coming to a stumbling to a stop outside the bathroom he knew Draco (and Myrtle) were concealed in.

Harry pressed his ear against the door but couldn't hear anything so after a moment of hesitation he very quietly pushed the door open and stepped inside. Draco was stood with his back to the door, his shoulders high and tense and his hands clutching either side of the sink, his white-blond head bowed. He seemed to be shaking, and Harry wondered if it was from the chill of the bathroom but though it unlikely. His silver cufflinks were on the side of the sink and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his Slytherin green-and-silver tie was loose around his neck and his shirt was untucked from his school trousers. He looked, basically, like a mess. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen Draco look so, unlike himself. His white-blond head was bowed and there were small noises that Harry thought might be sobs escaping his throat every few minutes. It was a horrible sight to be greeted with and Harry found himself at a loose of what to do. Strangely enough however, it was Myrtle who tried to comfort Draco.

"Don't." She begged. "Please. Please don't." Moaning Myrtle's voice crooned as she leaned over the top of the nearest cubical. Harry just about managed to tear his eyes away from Draco to see her watching the blonde Slytherin with strange glittering eyes that were probably the closest thing a ghost could get to actual tears. Myrtle hovered with her crossed arms on top of the cubical door and she raised her ghostly hand reached out towards Draco, as if desperately wanted nothing more than to comfort him with a physical touch she knew she couldn't give him. "Please. Please don't. I – I could help you–"

"No one can help me." Draco's voice was barely a whisper of his own, sounding scratch and raw as if he really had been crying. His whole body was shaking now and it only seemed to get worse the harder he tried to stop the shaking. "I can't do it. I can't. They'll hate me; Blaise won't understand and Harry…Harry…" A sob breaks through Draco's next attempt to say his name and Harry finds himself shaking almost as badly as Draco is. "

It doesn't matter anyway!" Draco suddenly shouted, startling both Harry and Myrtle with how loud he had suddenly become. And now that he had started shouting it seemed as if he couldn't stop. "It won't work. I can't make it work! And unless I fix it soon, he says," – Draco's voice drops from shouting to the merest of whispers – "he says he kill me." Harry's heart aches in a familiar pain. He doesn't know what to do, he knows what Draco is trying to convey but he doesn't know what to do about. Does he turn around and pretend he never stumbled upon Draco's breakdown? Does he walk forward and take Draco in his arms? Does he turn around and walk out of Draco and Blaise's life for good, like he should? Does he walk forward and wipe the tears from Draco's face; does he comfort him and promise him that he isn't leaving? Harry…doesn't know. So he stands with in the doorway with one foot in the bathroom and one foot out and listens. "I don't know what to do. I don't want Harry to hate me. I – I don't want to give them up. I can't imagine waking up without Blaise's arms around me anymore, but – but _he_." Draco gasps, loud and sudden with a hiccup that might be another sob on the end. "I can't let The Dark Lord kill my parents, either. I can't – I cant–"

Harry doesn't feel his legs walking him over to stand behind Draco, he doesn't feel his arms wrapping around Draco's chest or the warmth or Draco's body against his, but he feels Draco's sobs shaking through his entire body as they fall to the wet tilted-floor of the bathroom and he whispers gentle shushes to Draco shock at seeing him, and he lets Draco cry in his arms without a word. He ignores Myrtle's loud gasp of his name and he waits until Draco has calmed down enough to listening to him, staring at Draco's reflected face in the bathroom mirror that stretches from ceiling to floor; Draco's silver-grey eyes are wide and frightened and he looks like he thinks Harry is about to pull his arms away and walk out of the bathroom without ever looking back. But Harry isn't, won't, leave him. Not ever. "I don't hate you." Even a whisper sounds too loud between them at that moment, but as Draco's expression crumbles and more tears fall Harry knows it was what Draco needed to hear. He knows it was the right thing to say when Draco leans more heavily into his arms as if he thought he couldn't before. Harry holds him tighter against his chest and whispers again: "I won't ever hate you."

* * *

Harry exhales the last pull of his cigarette, flicking the burnt butt through the open window and staring out at the dark shadows of clouds in the sky outside. He stays like that for a while, head arched back against the stonewall behind him as he stares out at nothing, but then he looks down at his hands to see them shaking. A hysterical laugh bubbles out from his chest and he runs his hands through his hair and over his face. Three cigarettes that aren't entirely Tabaco later and he's still shaking; fucking _great_. He sighs. He wouldn't call his relationship with Draco and Blaise normal. He wouldn't even call his relationship with Draco and Blaise healthy. He'd had his suspicions that it hadn't started out as them wanting to court him, that it had been a game to see how far they could lure the Golden Boy away from the light, but in the end it didn't matter. Because they _won_. They made him question _everything_, they made it so he'd turned his back on his friends and the relationships he'd made, they changed him and everything around him until all Harry had left to rely on was _them_. They hadn't told him what they'd expected from him when _whatever this was that they_ had started, and they hadn't told him what they'd been willing to give him in return; they'd sort of made it up as they went along and the rules were always changing. If Harry were too look back he would stay he fell into this whole thing feet-first like any Gryffindor would, but that he was standing at the end of it more Slytherin even Draco or Blaise could have expected. But, regardless of all the things that were wrong with their relationship, Draco and Blaise had been faithful to him. They'd been a damn nearside of possessive and they'd coached him through pleasure and pain and where the lines mixed. They've showed him things he'd never even dreamed of. Lust. Magic. Happiness. Anger. _Wanting_. They and they alone had told him the truth when no one else would and they were always there for him, never changing in their opinions like the rest of their fickle world and always ready to defend him if need be. Always waiting fro him. Always letting him fight his own battles. Always ready to teach and touch. Always _his_.

Harry loved them, in his own messed-up kind of way. But what did an abused boy who grew up in a cupboard under the stairs know about love anyway? Whatever he did know about love he gave to them, his own special brand of fucked up possessive-love. But, despite what Professor Dumbledore would say, love isn't always enough. Because Harry finds himself standing at the edge of a crossroads and he doesn't know which path to take. His decision would surely determine the rest of his life, possibly even the war that sits waiting on the horizon, one was a path largely expect of him and the other was a path shadowed in doubt. He knew what he _wanted_ to do, but doing it was quite different. He closed his eyes, wiping angrily at the tears that clung to his eyelashes and desperately wishes for a distraction from his thoughts as hysteria takes ahold of him again. There was too much going on this year, too many things that could go wrong. Draco had been ordered to kill Dumbledore by the end of the school year under Voldemort's threat of his parents life; Draco had to fix the twin of Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement to that of the one that resided within _Borgin and Burkes_ shop in Knockturn Alley before the term was out; Blaise had to decide if he's going to join Voldemort's ranks or if he's going to live in fear of his family and loved one's being killed as an example; Harry has to decided if he's going to fight for Dumbledore or stand with Draco and Blaise. _He doesn't know what to do_. They're all just children thrown into a war that isn't their own and expected to fight and kill like the adults twice their age. Harry had once said that he would do anything for them, that for Draco and Blaise nothing would ever be too much, but now that the price of that promise had become clear he was beginning to doubt his words. Could he really do anything for them? Could he turn his back on his housemates and his friends; could he walk away from Dumbledore and his own morals and join the man (read: monster) that had killed his parents? Could he train in the Dark Arts? Could he kill? Could he betray his friends and the witches and wizards who had laid down their lives so he might survive? Could he walk away from his heritage and his mother's sacrifice? Could he tarnish his father's family name? Could he save Draco's parents? Harry though, just maybe, he could. He could do all of those things. He could –

"Harry?" Harry's eyes are watering from too many hours spent awake, but he can still make out the sharp lines of Blaise's face as he steps out of the shadowed hallway and walks toward him. He's wearing a black-silk pair of sleeping pants and a white top that is a little too big around his shoulders but tight on his chest, he looks as gorgeous as always and Harry can't seem to keep himself from smiling a little. "How long have you been out here, _amare_?" Blaise asked, his voice is deeper than usual and rough from sleep, and his hair is a mess almost as bad as Harry's but he seems to enjoy the feel of Harry's fingers combing through it to straighten the tangles out. When Harry finally meets Blaise's dark, slanted eyes their concerned. "It's freezing out here." Blaise said, which is completely true because it is freezing, and Harry watches silently as Blaise tugs the sleeves of his top down past his hands before stepping closer still to Harry. "_Amare_, why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

"I, forgot it."

"You forgot it?"

There was a pause, and a snort of not-quite laughter. "Yes." Blaise arches an eyebrow at him but says nothing, leaning his hip against the window ledge and joining Harry in starting out of the window at nothing. He smiles, soft and small and private, and Harry wonders were the bored and disinterested boy that Harry had first met went when Blaise had started smiling more often, but Harry isn't so sad to see him go. He loves it when Blaise smiles. He loves…Blaise. He loves both of them; Draco and Blaise, he loves them.

"Draco forgot his glamour tonight." Blaise's eyes watch him, dark and sad.

"I'm sorry. Harry, I–"

Harry laughed. "Why are you sorry? It was bound to happen eventually." Harry didn't smile this time, but he couldn't stand to look into Blaise's sad either. "He's not perfect." Harry whispered. "I don't want him to be perfect. He – he shouldn't feel like he needs to hide it from me." Green eyes closed, the image of Draco curled around a pillow with the comforter tangled around his legs entered his mind, of Blaise pressed against his back and Harry against his front, of the black ink of the Dark Mark on Draco pale forearm. It had almost seemed mocking, black ink against white skin, and it had ruined any illusions of safety and happiness that Harry had allowed himself to get lost in this year at Hogwarts. _The war wasn't coming. It was already here_. "He shouldn't feel like he needs to hide from me."

"I don't think he's hiding it from you, Harry." Blaise whispered, reaching out to cup Harry cheek and tilt his head up for a kiss. Blaise's lips lingered, a sweet taste lingering on Harry's tongue and he let out a single breathe of _oh_. Blaise pressed their foreheads together and stood pressed against him, doing nothing but breathing and pressing their lips together when he felt like it. "I think he wants to forgot it's there, too." Blaise whispered a little while later, softer than any whisper Harry had heard him speak in before. "He knows neither of us like it. He knows we understand why he did it. That he had no choice. But, this is our war now too. We can't hide behind our parents any longer. We're all going to have to take up our wands and fight. We'll all going to be branded in different ways; it wont matter if we were a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff or a Slytherin, soon it'll only matter if you're a Death Eaters or if you'll fight against them…Draco's just, he's just a little ahead on picking a side than the rest of us."

"I don't want to fight." Harry whispered, and he's shook by how much he means it.

"Is that why you've been so upset recently?"

"It doesn't matter." Harry said, turning away from Blaise to watch as lightening flashes through the sky once more. "It's stupid really."

"Tell me anyway." Blaise whispers and Harry is sorely tempted to brush the question off with a vague answer about how he's spent too much time in the dungeons that he feels deserted by his Gryffindor courage or something else typically hero-esk to distract him with. It would be easy to lie, and Blaise wouldn't question him even if he didn't believe him – it wasn't in his nature. But, there was something in the way Blaise was watching him that changed his mind.

"I have this, reoccurring dream. I don't believe in Divination but it feels too real to be _just_ a dream, and, I know it's telling me what will happen." He's not really sure how to explain to Blaise what his dreams feel like. He's sure he's not a Seer, and if he is he's gotten the unfortunate luck of witnessing dreams and visions through Voldemort's eyes; he sees death and pain and destruction and nothing good. He's not sure how to explain this pressure that sits on his chest after he wakes up from one of his dreams, the pressure telling him to _get up_ and _move_ and _change it_ before it's too late. _But he doesn't know how_. "In the dream I see a battle. Hogwarts is in the background and the sun is setting on the horizon, the grass in bathed in a light of red and – the battle begins with whispered words that promise safety if the students hand me over. But they won't, and Voldemort knows it. There's this muggle saying: _the quiet before the storm_, it reminds me a little of that but even before the battle starts it's not quiet. There are children protecting the school, seventeen and sixteen year olds, maybe a few stubborn fifteen and fourteen year olds that refused to run, just children. Children who hide in shadowed corners and try to pretend their not having panic attacks while the adults that stand out on the lawns shifting in their expensive robes, wands drawn and twitchy and eager and ready to kill." Harry said, whispering in a soft, smooth voice that doesn't feel like his own as it spins the elaborate tale of his nightmares. "Dumbledore's not there, I don't see his face in the crowd, but – we still fight in his name. We fight and we die against strangers twice our age and thrice as powerful as us, strangers who aren't strangers at all. I recognize some of their voices, muffled behind silver mask but still so fucking familiar." Harry blinks the tears away from his eyes and continues past the tightness he feels wrapping around his chest and heart. His soul. _The dream feels so real some nights that he thinks he can smell the blood on his clothes and feel the grit and dirt under his nails. He thinks he can hear the explosions around him and feel the tears drying on his face. He thinks he can hear Voldemort's voice, familiar and cold, as it whispers his name, as it calls for him to meet his death_. "In the dream I see Draco fighting, and I wonder if he's on our side. If he is, I wonder if he recognizes the tall man in expensive grey robes that tries to stun him. I wonder if the first time I meet his mother is when I see the small, curvy woman standing next him, wand drawn. They guard each other's back and move effortlessly together as they fight, and I wonder if he'll recognize something about them that will cause him to hesitate; their shoes or their eyes, or the way they twist their wrist on an upward flick of a curse." Harry's breath hitches, and he thinks he might start sobbing and crying in ugly tears any moment now. "When I wake up, and I see him laying beside me, and I feel your arms around me…I can pretend it's okay. That we'll be all right. But we won't." _We're not kids anymore. I can't keep lying myself_. "We'll have to fight. And I keep wondering if they expect you to kill your mother, if they'll expect for him to kill his father if he meet them on the battlefield, would they…if, if I meet you on the battlefield, would they expect me to kill you too?" Blaise presses a kiss to his lips and shakes his head, lost for words maybe for the first time. His eyes are sad, and scared, and wet with his own tears. Because they're just children. Babies. Barely sixteen. _But Blaise has already killed, and Draco's soon on his way to following him, and Harry? Harry had killed Voldemort when he was fifteen months old. He had killed Professor Quirrell when he was eleven and given the chance he would kill Wormtail in a heartbeat. Maybe he was the real killer out of the three of them_. "Because I can't. I – I won't."

"No one expects you to, Harry." Blaise pressed a kiss against his collarbone and holds, crushes, him to his chest, but Harry can hear the rear spike of emotion that breaks through the apathetic mask and lets him peaks at the hopelessness and fear hidden underneath. The defeat.

"But they do. They always have." Harry hands shake as he pulls another cigarette out of the discarded pack beside him. He flicks his wand and casts a small flame to lit it with before looking down at the pack in his hands; only two left now. "Ever since I received my Hogwarts letter I've had expectations and hope and fear pressed upon me. Everyone's had this predestined role that they were waiting for me to fulfill, and they'd already decided what they thought of me without even meeting me. No one asked me if I wanted to fight. I don't. I never did. If I could run away from it all, I would take father's cloak and my Firebolt and I wouldn't look back."

"What's stopping you? You could, you could leave and find somewhere safe away from all this madness. You could just, walk away." Blaise's lips trembled against his as they kiss desperately. Blaise breathes his question against Harry's panting mouth; "what's stopping you?"

"I could never leave you." _Even if I wanted you, I couldn't leave. You've tied me to your soul and your heart, Blaise. You own me. You and Draco, you're all I have left now. I won't give you up._ Harry smiled, it wasn't a nice smile or even a happy one, but he understood that there was no escaping Blaise or Draco, that they were too possessive to ever let him go, and that one way or another, he would meet his fate at the end of Voldemort's wand.

* * *

Author notes: [old]: This has been a project of mine for the last few months and I finally finished it last night. I'm not sure about how I feel about the ending or if I'm going to continue it, maybe I will or maybe I won't. We'll just have to see I suppose. I originally planned for this to be a prologue to a longer, multi-chaptered story but my fingers started running away with me and after the 25,000 word mark I think I knew this wasn't going to turn out like I'd planned. But. It was one of those stories that was just begging me to write it and I _couldn't put it down_. And just so you know, writing _Professor Snape_ was so hard when my automatic response is to just call him _Snape_; seriously, _you have_ _no idea how hard it was_. Also before I forget, I mentioned _them_ quite a few times without really explaining who _they_ are. [_They were just sheep. They followed the masses and their opinions of him were fickle at best. They didn't fight against the status quo and they didn't have the strength or intelligence to make up their own minds and stick to what they believed in. All it took was one person to plant the seeds of doubt in minds and their faith in him faltered.]_ So when I say _they_ or _them_ in these situations it's in reference to the wizarding public and the how fickle their opinions of Harry are, but how great their expectations of him are as well; _they_ also refer to the students of Hogwarts. J. is an amazing author and her writing style is so well written that the situation she created with the wizarding public's opinion changing back and forth between like and dislike for Harry, and with the media slander Harry received, and the unconfirmed rumors of Harry's life circling gossip magazines and columns, and, just, AHH!, it just gets me so mad even though I know Harry's only a fictional character. But yeah, _whatever_.

Edit: I've just finished my first year of university and I'm on summer break now with nothing to do and no job to keep me busy. I'd always been rather proud of this story but when I read it back over it I decided it could do with a bit of editing and tweaking here and there, so that's what I set about doing. Only a little turned into a lot and now it's a completely rewritten story. _Woops_. Somehow it went from 25,990 words to just under 65,000 words and I have no idea _how_. It stills feels generally unfinished but I've come to accept that this is all I'm going to write in this verse. Enjoy.


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